The Chicken: Part Three
- Theresa Baxter
- Oct 29, 2022
- 1 min read

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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