Chicken Head Poem

Not sure if you’ve ever felt like this, but I have many times. I am the chicken.


I feel like a chicken; its lovely feathers plucked out one by one

Bald and naked running about pecking the ground

They cut off my head with a bloody ax, but I still run.

They stand around and watch me and laugh at the headless creature.

They hold their bellies and point their fingers.

I watch my headless body run around, still attempting to peck the ground.


They flap their arms and cry, “baaak, bawk ….


Until. . .

They are biting into the crispy fried coating and sinking their teeth into my flesh.

The tasty morsels go down smoothly, and they are savoring every bite of me.

They taste and taste until they are full.

And I am but a pile of empty bones.

They wipe their mouths.

Raise up from their seats

And feel content with their meal of ME.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. That’s just sad. I truly hope they do not have that kind of awareness for longer than 4-5 seconds. We don’t butcher any more. My pioneer spirit only goes so deep, then, I am just a city girl again! Charlene Reams Manning Hens Acre Farm Georgetown, Texas (512) 819-0803

    I was young, and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging for food. Psalm 37:25


    1. Tekoa says:

      This must have confused several folks because it was not about a chicken, it was about me.


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