Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Chicken, by Kim Addonizio


Why did she cross the road?

She should have stayed in her little cage,

shat upon by her sisters above her,

shitting on her sisters below her.



God knows how she got out.

God sees everything. God has his eye

on the chicken, making her break

like the convict headed for the river,



sloshing his way through the water

to throw off the dogs, raising

his arms to starlight to praise

whatever isn't locked in a cell.



He'll make it to a farmhouse

where kind people will feed him.

They'll bring green beans and bread,

home-brewed hops. They'll bring



the chicken the farmer found

by the side of the road, dazed

from being clipped by a pickup,

whose delicate brain stem



he snapped with a twist,

whose asshole his wife stuffed

with rosemary and a lemon wedge.

Everything has its fate,



but only God knows what that is.

The spirit of the chicken will enter the convict.

Sometimes, in his boxy apartment,

listening to his neighbors above him,



annoying his neighbors below him,

he'll feel a terrible hunger

and an overwhelming urge

to jab his head at the television over and over

Never listening beyond their coop to wild birds sing