by John Ansell
“Why did the chicken cross the road?” ?The chicken farmer cried.? The clairvoyant answered:? “To get to the other side.”
“You mean – it wanted to be dead?” ?The stricken chicken farmer said.?“ Why else with death would it have diced ?If not to be a poultrygeist?”
“You mean I’m destined to be haunted? By some silly bird that sauntered ?On to Highway 58?For the purpose of being late?”
“So it says,” replied the medium; ?“Says its life was endless tedium.? After months locked in a cage Wouldn’t you choose highway rage?
Cluck, cluck, cluck and peck, peck, peck,? Then one day they ring your neck;? What kind of a life is that? –?Better a short stroll, then… splat!
Thought this bird that it’s the ghost of:? ‘Me you’ll never make a roast of;? You’ll not sell me off the shelf –?I’ll make mincemeat of myself!
Before you cook me in a pan ?I’ll be some driver’s coq au van. ’?And so into its path then thundered ?A Mitsubishi L300.”
“So sad to see a bird I fattened? Looking so completely flattened;? If I’d known it felt depressed ?I’d have put its fears to rest.
I’d have brokered its release ?And helped that chicken rest in peace;? It could have come and planned with me? The perfect exit strategy.
I’d have chopped its head right off it,? Sold the body for a profit? To the local KFC. ?Win/win deal: RIP.”
