Knock three times Samaritan, Peter took the other way

There is a chook atop the barricade looking to the road
I knock to let them know she is breaching, checking
no one answers and inside the mud brick all is hollow
Behind the wire among the scattered crushed weed
the clutch settles in the pigmented shade, wrinkly watching
At the T junction the back verge is corn pumpkin tomato
the open gutters have that lurking aniseed fox memory
Through the pass way the new estate reflects itself
nature strips are treeless saved for extra front parking
the yards are planted out to palm trees, fronds crashing
When I come back down the sprayed concrete path
the chicken is in the gravel road preening, dust bathing
I could pick her up but not reach over the high enclosure
The next day she is not there and I check for feathers
in the pen I cannot tell the identical cloned brood apart
a dog barks and I look about hoping no rooster crows.