September 13, 2010
By beccabrill BRONZE, Ocala, Florida
beccabrill BRONZE, Ocala, Florida
4 articles 1 photo 0 comments

The chickens in the oven,
I’m ready with my knife.
Come to me tender happiness,
There is no need for strife.
I know you wouldn’t like it,
But I really don’t care.
It's not your chicken it's mine,
And I never will share.

So now I have my chicken,
And my tummy is full.
Life is now complete,
And it shall never again be dull.

I am eating my chicken,
So tender and sweet.
This is a task I always love to complete.
Until I hit the bone,
And the chicken is all gone.
I pick up the phone,
And I dial 911.
They tell me I will be arrested,
So now I have no one.

Now I’m sitting in my room,
Shaking from withdrawal.
I need my tender chicken,
Without it I will fall.
And then comes in a hero,
Clothed in white feathers.
He hands me a box,
And it smells like chicken tenders.
I knew not what to say,
And then he flew away.
Into the sky,
Without a goodbye.

I knew what I must do.
I opened the box,
And before me sat fried chicken.
I picked up my fork and began to dig in!

The author's comments:
This poem was inspired by my friend Kristin and I's inside joke about our love for chicken.

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