Thursday, January 17, 2013

chicken man

feets by shefightslikeagirl

Chicken Man (with apologies to EAPoe)

It was warm in fall and far from home,
      in a port city down by the sea,
where was met a man fully stark of dome
      whom people would gather to see;—
And this man knew not how fate would lead
      to him giving a chicken to me.

I was a guest and he was well-known
      at this conference down by the sea,
but I watched him speak and my notes read "rrrow"
     as he stood on the dais before me.
By evening I knew would come the event
      that would introduce he and me.

The evenings were ours to explore the streets
      of the old city there by the sea,
to talk of hoodoo and grisgris and far-flung adventures
      and the nature of reality.
So that in the depths of the lengthening night
      I asked him to come with me,
to further explore the growing affection
      even a three-legged pig could see.

We laughed in the dark and continued to talk
      although long days had made us giddy—
yes!—that must be the reason that he exclaimed
     "I have slain a monster!" with glee.
"Tell me, tell me!" I begged, as he pressed me downward.
      "Read my fucking book" growled he.

So the conference ended, and our paths diverged hence

     me to my hollowed-out city—
     he to his red-dusted kitty—
And neither the angels of providence
      nor demons of productivity

Could ever dam our excited exchange
      via every technology.

Then on my favorite day, the PO wrote to say
     that they held a package for me.
In the midst of the crowd, I laughed out loud;
      the man had sent a chicken to me.
Of posters and postcards, of ties and surprises,
of the strangest exchanges and best interchanges,

     I will always hold dearest my plump Little Betty—
     and the man who gave a chicken to me.
 — July 2012


  1. Anonymous11:32

    Beautiful. There is not enough poultry-related poetry in this world.


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