I drove to pick up chicken feed.
A friend of a friend had dropped it off
Nearby, and Phil was too sick to go.
I spent the drive in prayer, there and back,
So it wasn’t “wasted” time.
But still found myself momentarily furious,
As I lugged the fifty pound bags
From shed to vehicle,
That I was spending my life,
Both time and money,
On feed for chickens,
While the eggs rot on my counter.
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