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The Chicken: Part Three



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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