Okay, so my turn to fess up again. Laura wrote in and truthed me this: What is the worst thing you’ve ever read?
I’m going to cheat a bit, because the poem below is both one of the worst things I’ve ever read...and one of the best. It was written on plain, lined notebook paper, in a gender neutral hand. I found it in a tiny drawer inside a wobbly little table in the coffee shop I used to frequent back in college. Who wrote it? Why did they love chicken so much? Why is it so...strange? Why paste, of all things?
White. So Glorious.
A beak for rummaging.
How I long to pet your white feathers.
Come to me as I yearn to boil you in water. And nibble on your flesh.
Eat you. Eat you. Eat you.
I feed you only to kill you.
Your feathers are the color of paste.
I like paste.
I paste when the wind blows.
As the wind blows through your feathers.
Your feathers, the color of paste.
Did you write this poem? If so, then…I love you. Write me at fridaythethirteeners[at]gmail[dot]com and tell me the name of the coffee shop where I found it, so I know it’s really you.
1. What's the worst thing you've ever read?
2. What are your favorite chicken poems? Are there any other chicken poems? Besides, of course, that brilliant one by William Carlos Williams...love that sucker.
3. Fill in the blank: So much depends up a ___ ___ glazed with rain water beside the ___ ___
4. What's the worst/best line in the poem above? I paste when the wind blows or I feed you only to kill you or Come to me as I yearn to boil you in water?
5. Can you write a chicken poem as good as this one?
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