Beth Bayley’s most recent poem to appear here was “Sea Monsters” (August 2019).

Walking From Labrador Nature Reserve to Harbourfront Station
By Beth Bayley

I love the wild jungle chickens, the beach chickens,
the hectic roosters always busy,

rushing around park benches
or through the weedy field toward the vending machines.

They burst out of the leaf litter underbrush, scrawny, crowing.
The sounds of the hens are complaints, admonitions,

as they nestle themselves in the dirt under trees,
scraping the soil with dinosaur feet.

A group of people are picnicking at the park
in sight of the container ships, a whole Gatorade cooler full of rice,

squashing themselves tightly on benches with much to discuss.
Their conversation floats out over the water,

and the sounds of the freighters float back,
the industrial clank of commerce.

We pass the picnic,
past signs about watching for suspicious swimmers,

then on toward the yacht marina,
the private promenades by the fanciest condos,

where I’m sure they shoo the beach chickens away,
their indignant squawks echoing out over the sea.