The Slaughtering of Chicken

 The Slaughtering of Chicken 

The task at hand is both jovial and heartless

Not for the weak and clement, but for the brute and merciless, 

And many a men have named it the dirtiest game.

Now when the neighbors are away

And none answers when you call their name,

Start with the water in the pot

And keep it boiling till it’s deathly hot.

Then get a handful of grains to lure the victim of the day;

A trapping unneeded and is only but a bonus treat.

For the little children will be jolly and gay

When later they consider the retrieval of undigested grains a wondrous feat.

Remember as well, to give something small to your sufferer

Is a deceitful act, but crucial and clever, so they don’t christen you a murderer.

O here’s where the fun will begin,

The chasing and racing, but careful that the chicken doesn’t win.

Remind the bastard of his days of running after hens, his crowing and sway,

And make him swear that every dog has its day.

Catch him you must and will,

And get him to be calm and still.

This too should be a barbaric feat

For you’ll hold him down with your feet,

One on the legs and the other on the wings,

While you sharpen your knife on a stone, a most intimidating of things.

The feathers on the neck must be unfeelingly plucked

To pave way for the knife and to make him all the more racked.

What remains is a finalization of the deed

And will take another lengthy exegesis indeed.

But here you might want to shed a tear or more

Not for the helpless animal that’s no more,

But in advance for what comes later in the evening,

When father holds his drumstick and stares blankly at the ceiling,

His eyes vacant as he talks of the day’s dirty politics 

And its rotten, betraying, and murderous tactics 

And you will remember as you so angrily weaken,

That you too are slaughtered chicken.

                                           James Kaluna












Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Just nature

Just nature Searing the midday sun, A lizard basks atop a rock Blesses the day with nod upon nod Whilst the badger cries foul, Seeks asylum amongst the shadows Bucketing the hourly rain The eucalyptus drinks greedily, ‘Thirst is a dangerous thing’, it says Under the ants gallop Curse the clouds for a hill washed asunder Timely’s the easterly wind, A flower rejoices much For its pollen travels far  Unalike the feebly twig Forced to bend and break To nature a ghost gives A body worth employment, To plants manure, to worms a feast Elsewhere a tear drops For a loved one’s lost Examine now the things of nature Flowing hence as is rightly due Choose then not to call these Names good or bad Blessing or curse, only, only just nature                                         James Kaluna
Read more

A Ship in Port

A ship in port Sometimes your waters Are calm and unruffled  And I long for waves and ripples Of comeliness and pacification  That’ll drive me To the glorious horizon   Sometimes you are wild Your emotions are a storm Your unpredictability like lightning  Your quiddity a raging wind  That strips my inmost parts bare, And I’m mystified by adventures  That lie beyond that storm, Wanting to be tossed about In your romping world But a ship in port I remain. Fear, my dear That your storm will wreck me Or your calm but deep waters Deceive me A ship in port, I remain.                                     James Kaluna  
Read more

Dear Mr. Pip, Old Chap(a note on Great Expectations)

Dear Mr. Pip, Old Chap You and I both, it’d seem Are quintessence of the word Of a man we both values, ‘Tis better to’ve loved and Lost, than ne’er to’ve loved at all’ For now as we eyes beholds Our Estella Here in the graveyard of our pursuance, We’s not lost a thing, For she’s not portable property  We’d be given, and we chooses to throw or take Our Estella’s our light Our moonshine in the dark of night Our ‘Old Clem’ to keep us going, The centre of our Great Expectations  And as we says to her, Old Chap, That we forgives her, For not seeing how strongly we loved her All we meantersay’s our loves’s stronger See, sir, as we says goodbye to her, And tears fall hard on our crusted heart, As it buckets down on our soul, We’s softened all the more, Oh Pip, she we’ll ne’er forget  Nor will ever stop loving, For we knows, ‘Tis better to’ve loved her,  And love her still.         ...
Read more