The tale had been told
From semesters ago
One of both humor and warning
Passed down and reused
And caused us to muse
In a dorm meeting held just that morning

The lecture went as follows:

There once was lad
Who had it quite bad
For a lovely young maid at the school
He mustered up bravery
And asked the young lady
On a date, to which she replied, “Yeah, cool.”

They went to a diner
Called The Old 49er
They sat with their menus wide open
The waiter with pencil
Took orders for the damsel
And waited for him who had not spoken

He looked at his date
Then up at the wait-er
(The poor guy was a total dating newb)
He went in for the win
And said with a grin
“I’ll take the chicken boob!”

timer…

The girl wrinkled her nose
Her cheeks turned dark rose
The young man’s smile vanished with dread
He unbuttoned his collar
His shame to swallow
And muttered something about “meatloaf instead.”

Needless to say
There were no other dates
But there in the girls’ dorm called Dixon
A code was declared
And not to be shared
That bosoms would henceforth be called “chickens.”

Emily M.

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You reduce me
To the size of a chicken
A caged one
Afraid to fly
Because I don’t want to fail
I think it probably hurts
And I don’t like to hurt
It’s safe here in my cage
I can’t hurt myself
Or anyone else
I can just reuse what has worked

But you play games with me
And leave the door wide open
I could just walk out
If I wanted to
I might even be able to fly
If I wanted to
I could probably do just about anything
If I wanted to
And you would cheer me on

So maybe I will take a peek
See what else lives on this farm
Maybe I will meet a friend
Maybe I will feel the sunshine
Maybe I will taste living water
Instead of this stagnant stuff in here
Maybe tomorrow I will be more
Than a fool recycling folly

Cedar

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Hipster chicken with his glasses thick
Was pretty sure he looked smart and “sick”
Lounging all day, in his careless way
The others thought he was a bit of a prick.

Hipster chicken with his herbal tea
Sipped away and felt happy and free
Not like the others, his sisters and brothers
Who pecked and scraped like busy little bees

Hipster chicken with his upcycled jeans
Knew all the others thought of him as cool beans
“Reduce, reuse, recycle,” was his mantra maniacal
Ever since he’d been a chicken in his teens.

Hipster chicken with his slicked over hair
Went to sit on an artisan chair
But instead was shooed, by the farmer most rude
And embarrassed returned to the other chickens there.

Elisa

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Raw chicken is threatening to germify the kitchen
The package has been opened and the microorganisms are floating out
Juices are waiting to ooze and be splattered
To splatter all over the counter, the stove!
Raw chicken is smearing its germs on the cutting board
My chef knife is covered from tip to hilt;
I turn to the sink, and I just might be dripping
The kitchen’s on lockdown—code red! Code red!
Sixty percent of the room is contaminated.
Everything in here is unsanitary.
The water in my drinking glass has turned into poison.
I hope dinner is worth it. I have my doubts.
The chicken’s sizzling in the pan; I’ve scalded my hands;
Will the cutting board ever be safe for reuse?
I’m spraying disinfectant while the chicken is cooking—
chemicals may have landed on the food.
Which is worse for the bodies in this house?
Raw chicken? Or bleach?
Either way it’s the raw chicken’s fault.
What would it look like if I could shine a lamp
That would make all the germs in here glow for me?
Which surfaces did I miss?
Once I walk away I’ll forget
That raw chicken was here

Emily H

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The challenge: Random Word Poetry Challenge! Write a poem using both of these words:

• Reuse
• Chicken

20 minutes

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