Marianne asked: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "What would Joni say about the chicken?" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Great question. Obviously, Joni's chicken is of two minds about crossing the road. The eagle and the serpent are at war in her. Should she stay on the comfortable side with its soft emotions, so fast, so smart? The world is at her feet, but what about her heart? She's had success, lots of fancy friends, yet she risks everything when she begins anew. There's danger in leaving home, in living up such a reckless lifestyle. Just last week she saw a farmhouse burning down in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night. What if Joni's chicken stops in the middle of the road, frozen in thought? Stopping in the road, a prisoner of the white lines, she could be hit. Deciding is hard work yet indecision could be fatal: You choose. And you lose if you hesitate. Home is boring and sad yet there's comfort in melancholy. Now she's thinking "That's no substitute. It just don't do it; come on now; you've got to try. Feck it. Strut like a rooster. March like a man." Tired of the inner dialog she murmurs aloud, "I'm always talking, chicken squawking." Puffed up and strutting, she darts out. A car on the hill! "You're not a hit-and-run driver! Bwak! No! No! Bwak!" Theatre of anguish. Theatre of glory. A thousand glass eyes were staring. In the middle of the road (Hynde), the stiff blue-haired house rules don't apply. Grazed! She keeps hearing bells all around her. She stumbles, like a mad man, kicking over garbage cans. Spins; blacks out. She winds up wounded, not even dead. No one watches when the ambulance pulls away. (Springsteen) Down and shaking when it thinks she thinks she's lost. Again. Lama
