Chicken Malady Poem by Gladwin George

Walking into the shop,
I saw with utter shock;
blood spread on the floor
two hands afresh gore.

My heart in turmoil,
Why chickens do we broil-
No time to lament and swoon,
guests will arrive soon.

'How much, kid'he asked.
'Two, a little big'I lashed.
A cruel smile, he dashed.
in tears, I took my cash.

True dexterity he killed,
two more lives to his fill.
Oh! Will God ever forgive
this butcher, in heaven to live!

Seeing the chickens me swore
never again shall this door,
be crossed by my feet
to witness this damn feat.

Strolling home I thought
the plight of chicken lot-
to live in iron`n`concrete,
never to enjoy nature sweet.

The poor're now made spicy
ALAS, they make my tongue watery.
To do something for them I dare;
but now let me have my share.

Tribute shall i pay-with pen
to all that're called hens.
Threnody I solemnly write,
to the one I now bite.