In
San
Francisco
Markets,
Quail
Are
For
Sale.
Not
Live,
But
Rudely
Trussed
And
Nudely
Thrust
Into
Ice,
Offered
For
A
Price.
Thought
A
Delicacy,
These
Birds
Wisely
Hide
In
Brush,
Eating
Seeds,
Though
Capable
Of
Speeds
Up
To
Fifteen
Miles
An
Hour,
Showing
Great
Power.
I couldn’t
Eat
One,
And
Passed
Their
Humble
Carcasses
Englassed,
But
Bought
This
Egg,
Bearing
A
Map
Of
The
World,
Unfurled.