A Roaster-Broiler by the Road

(a poem Emily's sister found wedged between two disused frying pans— curiously absent from the Johnson edition of ED's work)

A Roaster-Broiler by the Road
Occasionally crosses—
Her cluck a Bell that never Speaks
About Eternal Losses—

A small, white swelling on the Ground
She leaves behind—her Egg—
And yet the Barnyard Chorister
is tasty—Breast and Leg

If all the world were but a Mouth—
and Wild Nights—not a sin
I’d Marinate her—or perhaps—
I’d make a coq au vin

But I have Learned the white Degree—
A Road cuts through it—Change—
and She can get away from Me—
because she is free range.

© Christine Potter