Chicken of the Trees by Christy Bailes

Iguanas are falling from trees due to cold weather.  National Weather Service assured that they are not dead, just cold—Ella Torres, ABC News

According to the internet,

I suffer from doormat mindset,

as if adding a psychosomatic word

will make it sound less terrible.

The truth is, we all lie

under someone’s foot

one time or another,

but I always seem to be

the mat under the mat under the mat,

the most worn, the most trampled

without being seen, except

on a rare, deep-cleaning day.

Do you know what it’s like?

Do you?  To be picked

as third choice

on a cold day when Iguanas

fall from trees, not dead

but motionless with hands

in the air and up for grabs

for good Florida grilling.

I would be so lucky

to have a skewer through my

stocky spines and heavy jowls

instead of strolling soles on my face.

Let’s face it, when do you wipe your feet?

When you’ve stepped in dog doo?

When you’ve stepped in a puddle?

Well, I tell you this:

I am going to be a giant green lizard,

eating your ornamental plants

and sunning myself silly,

but if the temperature drops again,

you may eat my delicacy.

Christy Bailes lives in Fairfield, California. She is pursuing a second master’s degree in creative writing from California State University, Sacramento. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Havik, Abstract: Contemporary Expressions, San Joaquin Review, Gyroscope Review, Dovecote Magazine, Panoplyzine, Pamplemousse, Calaveras Station Literary Journal, The Penmen Review, and Inkwell Journal. In 2016, she received a master’s degree in creative writing from Southern New Hampshire University, where she studied with Patrick Culliton. She has also studied poetry with Lynne Knight and won an honorable mention twice in the Mattia International Poetry Contest. In 1993, she obtained a bachelor’s degree from Eastman School of Music in clarinet performance.