Chicken Head Poem

roost

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 ….

“CHICKEN”

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 thoughts on “Chicken Head Poem

  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

    Like

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