discontented chickens

nobody contented by their aging

replies when asked “but i’m still young” &

nobody who asks has any reason

but to find out how long that they can still

f**k, how long they can still dash without

responsibility, how long it is that they

can dance without those crickety bones,

how long they have before they’re over

that hill & there ain’t no way to come back

now,

you know the song that gets sung &

you know the way the tune goes &

you know how the beat is made &

you know what happens when it’s over &

you know the tales that get told

bout’ all the things that you can do

to get to the other side of the road

without fessing up that you a chicken too &

chickens s**t, so you got to admit

that you’re just as filthy as the rest of us &

chickens are stupid when they all chew the

same cigarette butt before tossing it as a

group, fight over one crumb rather than

see & search for those around them

(perceiving different ways to satisfy),

try & stuff more than one of themselves

into the nesting place without a second

thought & drop eggs into the deep mud

or even out the barn window, amidst other

trivialities---but what brings them all

together, what makes them all equal is that

eventually that farmer comes out with

the axe & takes each one of their little

heads, allowing them to run around

spurting & gushing before finally dropping

dead.