I knotted a noose
around the neck of the last
of the plastic rubber chickens I’d ordered
from the Remainder Store
at the start of the summer.
I hung the hardened creature in my window
as some sort of humiliated cry
to the public.
It was September
and you and I would not meet
for another three weeks.

I’d become older
wiser
but still inexperienced in the ways of the heart.
My tongue
had gained some slight sense of practice
at the end of last year
and would find a little bit more
with a great friend
in the days to follow
but I would save myself
in my way
for your eventual touch.

Perhaps that is why
I thought the world needed a display
of my plastic fowl
held in a hangman’s knot
next to my bed.
Everyone who passed
could see
that in my room
I was choking the chicken.
Everyone would understand
the truth of my solitary activities
until I came to know you.