THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING CHICKEN Poem by Ester Naomi Perquin

We've almost finished the plucking. Naked birds
lie gleaming at us, even under their feathers they're all chicken.

If we were able to eat each other we would taste
different than before, with clothes on - you and I are what we wear
much more fully than they are and have been so good at it for years
that it hurts us, nakedness.

We have a last look at what's lying there - again and again
they assemble themselves before our eyes, all those elegant,
relevant bones, recognisable remains, every scrap
they owned butchered, there's always

something left over that we want to be ourselves: always
recognisable as one and the same face
on ever-changing heads