Eat More Chikin?

Jarrett Margolis

Tenafly High School Poetry

I punch the clock at 4 A.M., long before the rooster’s ode to sunrise The smell of chicken shit and bleach permeates my clothes; sears my eyes The more I kill, the more He makes, so I consign the birds to their fate I stun and stick and slit and slaughter and see them exsanguinate I'm an avian assassin, hardly a need for a trial A slaughterhouse Anubis without the dog or the Nile So, in memory of all the cocks and hens that I’ve had to slay, “I hope you enjoy your Chick-Fil-A”

As captain and oarsman of all eighteen wheels My frozen hard-ship hauling chicken-tender meals Jackknifes, fumes, and fog; all things to avoid I suffer from fatigue, isolation, and a large hemorrhoid Like my cutlet cargo, this truck will truncate my lifespan I’ll usher us both across the river, I'm the Kentucky Fried Ferryman As I pass each mile marker on this desolate high-way “I hope you enjoy your Chick-Fil-A”

“How may I help you?” I say with a smile, as I stare down the lunchtime stampede Chicken and fries are the tools of my trade, my job is simply to feed Harsh words come from customers and my boss Which compete with the stench of peanut oil and zesty buffalo sauce As you insist on more napkins and extra dip I consider your paltry poultry tip “We accept cash, credit, or debit. How would you like to pay?” “I hope you enjoy your Chick-Fil-A”

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