I wrote the following bit on January 5, 1974. (Yes, I was such a creative young man.) So, tomorrow marks the poem’s 38th anniversary.
Check your freezer. If you find any chicken from 1974, say, stuck inside a block of ice at the bottom (and I know that kind of thing can happen), tomorrow would be a good day for a fry up. Raise a drumstick with me.
chickens of ordinary stature
mildly,
chickens
smell like the dickens.
usually,
they lay eggs
between their legs.
from chicken coop
to chicken soup,
nothing left
but chicken poop.
gah
[Photo and cartoon by G.Harrison]
***
You’re welcome.
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