Shaken by the mention of this word with such intention
“Surely,” said I, “this chicken would make my dinner better.
It be best if battered and breaded, but only if I beheaded
You, it’s what I intend to do, cook you till you’re tender
Till you are succulent with juices in my cooker of pressure
Regret this, never - ever.”
But the chicken still oblivious, yet with a look mischievous
Watched as I got out my very large cooker of great pressure
Then, I disengaged the lid, and as soon as that I did
It sensed the littlest bit of discomfort and displeasure
I smiled at this plump, ungainly, incongruous fowl of feather
That only squawked, “Never.”
I took a closer look at this very stately chook that
Had eyes disguised by feathered bangs that did endeavour
To make me think of Bowie, if he were a chick and doughy
For this bird was a rock and roller if I had seen one ever
The most elegant and extravagant fowl I’d seen ever
That still only muttered, “Never.”
To be continued...
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