A chance meeting with Chicken Little
While minding my own business sittin’ outside the Doylestown Starbucks nursing a triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato doing some decent noticing and getting high on cosmic free-basing I see a familiar shadow.
Unmistakable; thin legs, spindly toes spread wide, neatly tucked wings, a casual strut, a quick burst of forward movement, back to casual strut, tufted hair, a quiet and measured clucking. A formidable presence approaches my table.
“Jeeze, it’s been a while my friend,” I exclaim. “It’s good to see you Chicken, Chicken Little, you look marvelous!”
“Hey Guy,” he says, “I’ve been looking for you.” In the Zendo my fellow satori-ests call me Mr. Night, but Chicken and I go way back, so Guy is perfectly appropriate.
“Zup homo?” Chicken asks. He’s always been a touch off on his slang and I take no notice. “Not much Chicken. You know, ridin’ the rails, chillin’ with my hose-bag, takin’ care o’business, micro-dosing on nirvana, the usual,” I say, clearly not so good myself with contemporary jazzy vernacular.
“Well,” Chicken whispers. “I got it on some good authority from some rooster dudes over at the feed store that some really strange shit is going down.” “Do tell Chicken,” I say as I lean closer, “What kinda strange shit is going down?”
Chicken does a quick circular strut and shouts out a boastful ba-gaak before sitting back down. “You know about the founding Fathers, and the Bill of Rights, and the three branches of gov’t, and the fourth estate, and the necessity for plurality, for forgiveness, for participatory representation, and human rights, spiritual fortitude, progressive taxation, racial equality, distribution of wealth, environmental sustainability, corporate transparency, consumer protections, single-payer Medicare for all, emoluments, the right to privacy, election tampering, the deep state, vaccine safety, the revolving door, building 7, rapid onset climate disruption, that other Guy, Megyn and Alex, Fox news, the one tenth of one percent, the…….,” I respectfully interrupt, “Yes, Chicken, I’m picking up what you’re putting down. That’s some pretty strange shit indeed.” I say.
“That ain’t even half the tain’t of it,” Chicken says, I nod in agreement as I have always done with Chicken over the years even if I’m not perfectly sure what he means. “And I’m not talkin’ ’bout no prostate,” Chicken clucks with a knowing flip of the quaff.
“Dude, Guy, listen to me man, this is no bullshit, this is happening, man, it’s happening right cluckin’ now, in your face, up your pooter, all over, every corner, in the dark and in the light, on the cushion, and on the factory floor – this is real man!”
I am stunned, the full force of Chicken’s message hits me, and hits me hard, my face goes white, my jaw slacks, coffee stained drool falls from my frozen lips, I don’t dare utter it, but I can’t avert my gaze and I say to Chicken, “Do you mean, do you really think….?”, and Chicken sees that I see and that in that moment he knows that I know that he knows that I can see what he’s saying about what we both now know and it’s perfectly clear to both of us like at the same time and we both know that it is without saying a word!
Chicken gets up from the table, fluffs it all out, stands on one leg for a moment and then the other, and says. “Guy, you know me, I don’t agitate lightly, I don’t abuse anyone’s attention, I mean what I mean and I say what I say, and Guy?” “Yes Chicken?” I say.
“Guy,” Chicken says, “The Constitution is falling,” and he walks away.