In the Year of the Rooster

This is not really Chinese zodiac But born in a year of the rooster last century I was fated to crow aloud to summon The first morning glows above the

Rice-fields, pecking here and there For a seed or a pebble bit close To my grandma’s straw-roofed Cottage, ready to put up a chicken fight

With my fleshy crown standing up straight But never able to fly higher than a broken Fence, since my body was winged With more fat than feathers

Only after I died did I manage to travel afar To an exotic land, when my naked being Was minced and served for a minor course In a recyclable plate as in this little poem

Changming Yuan

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This is not really zodiac
But born in a year of the rooster last
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