Chickens.

Here is an original poem, from yours truly, Cipriano.

Chickens

I cannot imagine a world without them.
A world where I cannot rob them of their unborn young
and gnaw their adult legs to the bone.

Where sunny side up, over easy, Breakfast Special,
are all meaningless terms.
Where the sun hesitates below the horizon waiting
for a rooster on a fence that is not there.

Think of the jeerless playgrounds, bullies groping
for just the right word to hurl at timid boys.
What will these kids hunt for at Easter time
or throw at houses on Hallowe’en?

People will tell legends involving a soup
that could cure a cold, as the riddle industry stumbles.
Which came first, the… ah, forget it.
Why did the something-or-other cross the road?
See?

No. A world without poultry just leads to
a lot of blank stares in the kitchen.
Honey, don’t forget to pick up a dozen ____?
She’s lost for words, and all he knows
is that he hasn’t eaten a moist cake in years.

We ought to be thankful.
It is good that they are here.
It is good that they cannot fly too fast, or too high.
This makes it easier to knock them out of the air
or just trip them,
lop off their heads,
and stuff them into a pot or an oven.

No, a world without them would not do.
And as far as that goes,
heaven will not be heaven,
if there are no chickens there.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2005