Some of us hide
Put our heads into holes
Pull the covers up over our heads
Behind the rocks and trees of the wild
Under the water breathing through a hollow reed
Camouflaged with mud on the riverbank
Nothing showing but the slits of our eyes
Some of us run
We sprint towards the sunset
Never slowing with furtive looks behind
Racing in a car as fast as it can go
Barreling downhill on our bicycle
To build up a head of steam
Hoping that speed will keep us ahead of things
Some of us play possum
Lie upon our backs
Arms and legs stuck straight up in the air
Tongue lolling out
Scarcely daring to breathe
Smeared with our own shit
To give the stench of death
In case the enemy sniffs us
Just to make sure that we are dead
Some of us stand strong and fight
Swinging our battle-ax with all of our might
As to hew a mighty tree
We swing in a blind rage
Cutting at the enemy's knees
Blocking blows with our shield
Stabbing with our knife
Going hand to hand
When all else fails
Determined to win or die trying
Some of us
Live our lives
Observe our surroundings
And adjust to things as they go
Sometimes coming out ahead
Others times not so much
Aiming for the wreck
On the theory that it will be gone
By the time we get there
Bobbing and weaving
Keeping a steady pace
Playing the game
Changing little
Leaving a light footprint
How do you survive?
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
SFO to IND - A Tale of the Wrench
Usually I slept sitting up in the back of the cockpit
Chatting with the crew
Looking at all the instruments
Staring out the window
On one of the sheepskin covered cockpit jump seats
But this trip wasn't about me being comfortable
Or happy, apparently
It started off fine
I was coming off of twenty days in San Francisco
Helping out on the flight line while some guys were on vacation
I'd had a marvelous time for the most part
Took a day away to San Antonio to fix a thrust reverser
But overall a very slow work month
Now time to head back to Detroit to start my week off
I was hitching a ride on a company DC-8
Not posh by any standards
But I was confident that it would get me home safe
A DC-8 just inspires that kind of feeling
At the last minute
Two young guys from the outstation were put on the flight
They were both heading to Detroit for some company training
There was some excitement at the prospect that they could ride in the cockpit
So I bowed out, and opted to ride in the back
After all, I remember being excited too
When things were new to me
The area I was to be sitting in was right behind the closed cockpit
I guess you could call it the entryway area
About eight feet wide
Maybe four feet long
Occupied by a triple coach seat unit
A life raft and some maps in boxes
A camper potty toilet
And me and my bag
The three crew members came aboard
The two young guys set up the jump seats
I flopped on the triple coach seat set
Right next to that camper toilet
No partition of any kind around it
I decided that if someone needed to use the bathroom
I'd retreat to the cargo area for a little while
Being in there at the same time would be too close for comfort
Takeoff was as exciting as usual in an old DC-8
All the shaking and roaring that routinely occurs
This time though
I didn't have the fun of being able to see out of a window
Yeah
There's no windows in the entryway
Unless you count the little six inch porthole in the entry door
Which was about five feet away from me in any case
And I don't count that as a window
Neither should you
It's really only enough to tell you if it is day or night outside
Though I did try to look out of it once we were up and away
It just gave me a headache though
Being that it was all scratched and distorted
The cockpit door was closed
No window to look out of
It smelled like camper potty
I decided to try to read my book for awhile
We were actually flying to Indianapolis
From there I'd have to drive home
I figured that since it had taken about five hours to get to SFO
It would take about the same amount going back
Right?
Wrong
But I wouldn't realize the extent of that until later
I got bored with trying to read after about an hour
There was mild turbulence
And the lighting was shit
So I decided to try taking a nap
A few minutes later after I decided that it seems
The two jump seaters came back
And passed right through into the cargo area
I didn't think much of it
The main cargo deck was the unofficial smoking area
While they were back there
I poked myself into the cockpit to say hello
The crew told me we had a strong headwind
This would add an hour or two to our trip
Which kind of bummed me out
I'd have to kill that much more time
The two other guys showed back up
They smelled more like booze than cigarettes
But the captain didn't say anything
So neither did I
We divvied up the sandwiches
I sat down in my back area
Eating the sandwich killed another ten minutes of so
It was time to seriously kill some hours
I pulled out my pillow and laid across the seats
Paying no attention to the proximity of the toilet
The airplane's constant noise put me to sleep
I was woken up the first time
By the two young guys
One of them had stumbled into me
They were going into the cargo area
For about the umpteenth time
They were pretty well in the bag
I cursed and pulled the blanket up over my head
I was woken up the second time
By the sound of running water
I thought, "What the fuck?" to myself
And I opened my eyes
It took a second to comprehend what I was seeing
About a foot from my face
Was a penis
It was the first officer taking a piss
The way I was laying
My head was over by the toilet area
The first officer looked down at me
I looked up at him
For the second time that flight
I pulled the blanket up over my head
And pretended I was somewhere else
I woke up again a few hours later
Just from the sheer discomfort of my bed
The two armrests in the middle of the seat
Had made permanent dents on my spine
Or so it felt
I checked my watch
There was still a couple hours to go before I could expect to land
I just couldn't sleep anymore
So I got up and paced my area
Five feet over to the entry door
Five feet back to the seats
After doing that a few times
I ducked through the narrow opening on the left side of the fuselage
Stepping into the main cargo area
There was a huge pallet of stuff
All wrapped in plastic
It was in the number one spot
Leaving about a foot or so in front of it
So I walked over to the other sidewall
Between the pallet and the 9g bullkhead
And back
I did that a few times
Then sat down on the plastic wrapped pallet
At least it was different than sitting in those awful seats
But it was just as boring
And it smelled of cigarette smoke and whiskey
Kind of turned my stomach
Things being the way they were
I went back through the little doorway to the entry area
Sitting down in my seat again
Swearing I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again
So of course I did
The next sound I heard
Was the old fasten seat belts chime
With the accompanying 1960's era sign lit up over the cockpit door
When the tires touched down
Marking six and a half hours of flight time
I said a quiet thank you
That the seemingly longest
Most boring
Flight of my life was over
Chatting with the crew
Looking at all the instruments
Staring out the window
On one of the sheepskin covered cockpit jump seats
But this trip wasn't about me being comfortable
Or happy, apparently
It started off fine
I was coming off of twenty days in San Francisco
Helping out on the flight line while some guys were on vacation
I'd had a marvelous time for the most part
Took a day away to San Antonio to fix a thrust reverser
But overall a very slow work month
Now time to head back to Detroit to start my week off
I was hitching a ride on a company DC-8
Not posh by any standards
But I was confident that it would get me home safe
A DC-8 just inspires that kind of feeling
At the last minute
Two young guys from the outstation were put on the flight
They were both heading to Detroit for some company training
There was some excitement at the prospect that they could ride in the cockpit
So I bowed out, and opted to ride in the back
After all, I remember being excited too
When things were new to me
The area I was to be sitting in was right behind the closed cockpit
I guess you could call it the entryway area
About eight feet wide
Maybe four feet long
Occupied by a triple coach seat unit
A life raft and some maps in boxes
A camper potty toilet
And me and my bag
The three crew members came aboard
The two young guys set up the jump seats
I flopped on the triple coach seat set
Right next to that camper toilet
No partition of any kind around it
I decided that if someone needed to use the bathroom
I'd retreat to the cargo area for a little while
Being in there at the same time would be too close for comfort
Takeoff was as exciting as usual in an old DC-8
All the shaking and roaring that routinely occurs
This time though
I didn't have the fun of being able to see out of a window
Yeah
There's no windows in the entryway
Unless you count the little six inch porthole in the entry door
Which was about five feet away from me in any case
And I don't count that as a window
Neither should you
It's really only enough to tell you if it is day or night outside
Though I did try to look out of it once we were up and away
It just gave me a headache though
Being that it was all scratched and distorted
The cockpit door was closed
No window to look out of
It smelled like camper potty
I decided to try to read my book for awhile
We were actually flying to Indianapolis
From there I'd have to drive home
I figured that since it had taken about five hours to get to SFO
It would take about the same amount going back
Right?
Wrong
But I wouldn't realize the extent of that until later
I got bored with trying to read after about an hour
There was mild turbulence
And the lighting was shit
So I decided to try taking a nap
A few minutes later after I decided that it seems
The two jump seaters came back
And passed right through into the cargo area
I didn't think much of it
The main cargo deck was the unofficial smoking area
While they were back there
I poked myself into the cockpit to say hello
The crew told me we had a strong headwind
This would add an hour or two to our trip
Which kind of bummed me out
I'd have to kill that much more time
The two other guys showed back up
They smelled more like booze than cigarettes
But the captain didn't say anything
So neither did I
We divvied up the sandwiches
I sat down in my back area
Eating the sandwich killed another ten minutes of so
It was time to seriously kill some hours
I pulled out my pillow and laid across the seats
Paying no attention to the proximity of the toilet
The airplane's constant noise put me to sleep
I was woken up the first time
By the two young guys
One of them had stumbled into me
They were going into the cargo area
For about the umpteenth time
They were pretty well in the bag
I cursed and pulled the blanket up over my head
I was woken up the second time
By the sound of running water
I thought, "What the fuck?" to myself
And I opened my eyes
It took a second to comprehend what I was seeing
About a foot from my face
Was a penis
It was the first officer taking a piss
The way I was laying
My head was over by the toilet area
The first officer looked down at me
I looked up at him
For the second time that flight
I pulled the blanket up over my head
And pretended I was somewhere else
I woke up again a few hours later
Just from the sheer discomfort of my bed
The two armrests in the middle of the seat
Had made permanent dents on my spine
Or so it felt
I checked my watch
There was still a couple hours to go before I could expect to land
I just couldn't sleep anymore
So I got up and paced my area
Five feet over to the entry door
Five feet back to the seats
After doing that a few times
I ducked through the narrow opening on the left side of the fuselage
Stepping into the main cargo area
There was a huge pallet of stuff
All wrapped in plastic
It was in the number one spot
Leaving about a foot or so in front of it
So I walked over to the other sidewall
Between the pallet and the 9g bullkhead
And back
I did that a few times
Then sat down on the plastic wrapped pallet
At least it was different than sitting in those awful seats
But it was just as boring
And it smelled of cigarette smoke and whiskey
Kind of turned my stomach
Things being the way they were
I went back through the little doorway to the entry area
Sitting down in my seat again
Swearing I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again
So of course I did
The next sound I heard
Was the old fasten seat belts chime
With the accompanying 1960's era sign lit up over the cockpit door
When the tires touched down
Marking six and a half hours of flight time
I said a quiet thank you
That the seemingly longest
Most boring
Flight of my life was over
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Malfeasance Monkey
Malfeasance Monkey sees you
As you award contracts to your friends
As you gerrymander the districts
As you help yourself to the dole
Malfeasance Monkey sees all
He takes notes
He eats a banana
Because that's what monkey's do
You think you're so sly
In your back room meetings
In the Capitol basement
Near the old Senate Bath
Now an outdated boiler room
Malfeasance Monkey lurks in the shadows
Just over there
Wearing nothing but a towel
Nobody told him the baths were out of service
But he is watching just the same
As you arrange your Job After Congress
Malfeasance Monkey knows
That Bill you introduced "for the good of your district"
Really is only for the good of you
Malfeasance Monkey will bide his time
Until you've dug a hole so deep
Then he will file his notes with the appropriate office
The Archive Chimpanzees
Of course nothing will happen
But just so you know
Malfeasance Monkey is watching you
Everywhere you go
As you award contracts to your friends
As you gerrymander the districts
As you help yourself to the dole
Malfeasance Monkey sees all
He takes notes
He eats a banana
Because that's what monkey's do
You think you're so sly
In your back room meetings
In the Capitol basement
Near the old Senate Bath
Now an outdated boiler room
Malfeasance Monkey lurks in the shadows
Just over there
Wearing nothing but a towel
Nobody told him the baths were out of service
But he is watching just the same
As you arrange your Job After Congress
Malfeasance Monkey knows
That Bill you introduced "for the good of your district"
Really is only for the good of you
Malfeasance Monkey will bide his time
Until you've dug a hole so deep
Then he will file his notes with the appropriate office
The Archive Chimpanzees
Of course nothing will happen
But just so you know
Malfeasance Monkey is watching you
Everywhere you go
Monday, June 4, 2012
With Her Strings Cut
Sitting on the stoop
Head hanging low
Hands limp betwixt the legs
Knees knocked together
A marionette hanging limp
Strings dangling short
Link to a controlling hand cut
Who is this puppet in front of me
Long black hair covering her face
Long white stockings pulled up over knees
Showing a couple inches of thigh
Before the tidy navy jumper begins
Sitting so still
On the stoop
What dreams go on in this golem's head
Dances and plays all acted out
So used to traveling to places far away
Usually tucked in a travel trunk
In the baggage compartment
Along with the Royal Mail
I want to brush the black hair away
To reveal her hidden face
To see what there is so see
But I remain rooted in my place
The mystery must remain
The larger part of me agrees
Thus staying my hand and anchoring my feet
I look all around
But see no higher power
No operator
No handler
No larger puppeteer's angry glower
I leave her there
On her stoop
In her pose
And when next I pass by
She is gone
So the mystery remains
Where did she come from
Where did she go on to
What adventures is she playing out
Now that she is in control of her own fate
Her strings pulled by none but herself
Head hanging low
Hands limp betwixt the legs
Knees knocked together
A marionette hanging limp
Strings dangling short
Link to a controlling hand cut
Who is this puppet in front of me
Long black hair covering her face
Long white stockings pulled up over knees
Showing a couple inches of thigh
Before the tidy navy jumper begins
Sitting so still
On the stoop
What dreams go on in this golem's head
Dances and plays all acted out
So used to traveling to places far away
Usually tucked in a travel trunk
In the baggage compartment
Along with the Royal Mail
I want to brush the black hair away
To reveal her hidden face
To see what there is so see
But I remain rooted in my place
The mystery must remain
The larger part of me agrees
Thus staying my hand and anchoring my feet
I look all around
But see no higher power
No operator
No handler
No larger puppeteer's angry glower
I leave her there
On her stoop
In her pose
And when next I pass by
She is gone
So the mystery remains
Where did she come from
Where did she go on to
What adventures is she playing out
Now that she is in control of her own fate
Her strings pulled by none but herself
Sunday, June 3, 2012
It's Not Me, It's Everyone Else!
Do you slide through the water
With the greatest of ease
Like the sharpest of knives
Through a thick wheel of cheese
Not leaving a ripple in your wake
Hearing of a starving peasants distress
And telling them to eat cake
I know you
You think you can do no wrong
And who knows
Despite the incoherent song
Perhaps you are right
Maybe it's all the rest of us
Who are barking madly at the night
You are the only sane one
With your head made of glass
Brain pulsing like Brainiac
Propelling you to the head of the class
In most everything you do
Except that one thing
The thing that will be your rue
It's your blindspot
Your Kryptonite
Your impossible knot
Keeping you up at night
Don't look to me though
I'm one of those barking in the moonlight
Jumping from hedge to row
You scribble in your journals
To pass the time of day
Calculating and writing is like breathing to you
It's on those social cues you lose your way
You never say the right thing
At work or at play
Good manners (if you had any) deftly take wing
You are hopeless
As you are mad
The tables are turned upon your scenario
If only you knew you would be glad
For the thing that makes you crazy
Is thinking you are the only sane one
It trips you whoopsie daisy
I'm here to reassure you though
YOU are the mad one, not us
And though I've tried time again to tell you
You wave me away like an ornery cuss
So for your own good I'm locking you away
And the darndest thing is that you didn't even notice
You're in your own world so far away
Fighting fantastical battles
Against enemies in your head
Solving riddles of the universe
Raising all your dead
You are happier thinking we are the crazy ones
In your glass house
With your dangerous pile of stones
With the greatest of ease
Like the sharpest of knives
Through a thick wheel of cheese
Not leaving a ripple in your wake
Hearing of a starving peasants distress
And telling them to eat cake
I know you
You think you can do no wrong
And who knows
Despite the incoherent song
Perhaps you are right
Maybe it's all the rest of us
Who are barking madly at the night
You are the only sane one
With your head made of glass
Brain pulsing like Brainiac
Propelling you to the head of the class
In most everything you do
Except that one thing
The thing that will be your rue
It's your blindspot
Your Kryptonite
Your impossible knot
Keeping you up at night
Don't look to me though
I'm one of those barking in the moonlight
Jumping from hedge to row
You scribble in your journals
To pass the time of day
Calculating and writing is like breathing to you
It's on those social cues you lose your way
You never say the right thing
At work or at play
Good manners (if you had any) deftly take wing
You are hopeless
As you are mad
The tables are turned upon your scenario
If only you knew you would be glad
For the thing that makes you crazy
Is thinking you are the only sane one
It trips you whoopsie daisy
I'm here to reassure you though
YOU are the mad one, not us
And though I've tried time again to tell you
You wave me away like an ornery cuss
So for your own good I'm locking you away
And the darndest thing is that you didn't even notice
You're in your own world so far away
Fighting fantastical battles
Against enemies in your head
Solving riddles of the universe
Raising all your dead
You are happier thinking we are the crazy ones
In your glass house
With your dangerous pile of stones
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Meet Me In Memphis
Meet me in Memphis
On top of Elvis' tomb at midnight
Don't worry
Nobody will see
Pay no attention to all the security cameras
I'm sure nobody is watching
As the moonlight
Turns your porcelain skin a shade of blue
Your wrap shrugged off
Revealing the nothingness of your clothing
The goose bumpy softness of your skin
Meet me in Memphis
On top of the King's tomb at midnight
Get there a minute early
Put on a blindfold
Don't ask why
This is me talking
You know what will happen if you do
A blindfold of black satin
To contrast with your skin
And your strawberry hair
Flowing down your back in a waterfall
Meet me in Memphis
Upon the tomb behind the musical gates
Arch your back to my touch
Nobody else in the world except me
Running fingers up and down your limbs
Lingering upon your paintings
Your line drawings
Your proverbs
Deep in your skin
I kiss each one in turn
A reminder of the pleasure pain
From when each was etched in
Meet me in Memphis
Where the ghost of Elvis Aaron lives
Cold metal upon your bare back
Hot touch between your thighs
Penetrating your loins with but a thought
Nipples crinkled
Eyes veiled
You don't even know if it's me
You bite your lip at the thought
Drawing a drop of blood
I lick it from you gladly
A small gift for your lover
Whomever that may be
Meet me in Memphis
The King's name being imprinted into your back
By my weight upon you
By the kiss of the night wind
My teeth close upon your skin
Your back arches you into me
Raised letters upon the metal tomb tear at you
Little cuts appearing on the mirror image imprint
As you reach your peak
As you scream my name
"Fucking Elvis Presley!!!!"
I whisper in your ear what I want you to do
Before I leave you once again
You'll do it
I know you will
You're obsessed with me after all
You met me in Memphis
Upon my tomb in the moonlight
Now not a half hour later
You're face down on a table
On Beale Street in Memphis
The artist looking at your back in shock
As your lips tell him what you want him to do
From your shoulders down to your buttocks
Is the mirror image of Elvis' metal tomb
Imprinted and cut into you
Now to be needled permanently by this man
As proof that you love me
As I do believe that you do
On top of Elvis' tomb at midnight
Don't worry
Nobody will see
Pay no attention to all the security cameras
I'm sure nobody is watching
As the moonlight
Turns your porcelain skin a shade of blue
Your wrap shrugged off
Revealing the nothingness of your clothing
The goose bumpy softness of your skin
Meet me in Memphis
On top of the King's tomb at midnight
Get there a minute early
Put on a blindfold
Don't ask why
This is me talking
You know what will happen if you do
A blindfold of black satin
To contrast with your skin
And your strawberry hair
Flowing down your back in a waterfall
Meet me in Memphis
Upon the tomb behind the musical gates
Arch your back to my touch
Nobody else in the world except me
Running fingers up and down your limbs
Lingering upon your paintings
Your line drawings
Your proverbs
Deep in your skin
I kiss each one in turn
A reminder of the pleasure pain
From when each was etched in
Meet me in Memphis
Where the ghost of Elvis Aaron lives
Cold metal upon your bare back
Hot touch between your thighs
Penetrating your loins with but a thought
Nipples crinkled
Eyes veiled
You don't even know if it's me
You bite your lip at the thought
Drawing a drop of blood
I lick it from you gladly
A small gift for your lover
Whomever that may be
Meet me in Memphis
The King's name being imprinted into your back
By my weight upon you
By the kiss of the night wind
My teeth close upon your skin
Your back arches you into me
Raised letters upon the metal tomb tear at you
Little cuts appearing on the mirror image imprint
As you reach your peak
As you scream my name
"Fucking Elvis Presley!!!!"
I whisper in your ear what I want you to do
Before I leave you once again
You'll do it
I know you will
You're obsessed with me after all
You met me in Memphis
Upon my tomb in the moonlight
Now not a half hour later
You're face down on a table
On Beale Street in Memphis
The artist looking at your back in shock
As your lips tell him what you want him to do
From your shoulders down to your buttocks
Is the mirror image of Elvis' metal tomb
Imprinted and cut into you
Now to be needled permanently by this man
As proof that you love me
As I do believe that you do
Friday, June 1, 2012
Chickens Can't Fly!
That chicken couldn't fly
No matter how hard it tried
No matter how hard it flapped it's wings
Or how high it jumped off of things
It always dropped like a stone
And was lucky it didn't break a bone
In more ways than one
Else it would have been my supper
But I still felt obligated to help
Since it was my chicken and all
So I applied my brain
Drew up some plans
And had a few chicken recipes set out
Just as a backup
Wouldn't want anything to go to waste
First I started simply
By grabbing the chicken and throwing
In different arcs
And different ways
None of it helped
Though I did get a good workout
Next came the catapult
In which the Chicken nestled
Safe and sound
Until I chopped the rope
Then flung high and wide
Right into the pile of target hay
But no flying
Despite the mad flapping
And the mechanical launch assist
There must be another way
That's when we made the cannon
Out of thick PVC
We put our brains together
And determined that propellent was the key
The chicken climbed in
On top of some cotton stuffing
I applied butane liberally to the breech
And it took two months
Until the chicken's feathers grew back
I was in a state of dismay
I figured it was all a waste of time
That was before I caught the chicken
Watching Discovery channel
And sipping my fine wine
It was a show about a flying wing-suit
The chicken thought this was just the ticket
And it planned carefully
As it chewed thoughtfully on a cricket
In yet another month
All was made ready
And on a sunny Sunday morning
A hot air balloon ride was arranged
The chicken in a custom wing-suit
Although I did tell it it looked rather silly
I offered the chicken a backup parachute
But the chicken would have none of it
Off in the balloon that chicken went
Giving me the wing and telling me to get bent
That's kind of how I've arrived here
Sitting at the kitchen table
With a fine roasted chicken center stage
Complete with all the fixings
The chicken went up
The chicken jumped out
The chicken tumbled and fumbled about
The chicken landed with a thud
Amidst varied cries of "Watch out!"
It seemed a shame for the chicken to go to waste
Especially after it had drank all my wine
And so I gave thanks that it had landed on my property
Thus offering such a tasty opportunity to dine
No matter how hard it tried
No matter how hard it flapped it's wings
Or how high it jumped off of things
It always dropped like a stone
And was lucky it didn't break a bone
In more ways than one
Else it would have been my supper
But I still felt obligated to help
Since it was my chicken and all
So I applied my brain
Drew up some plans
And had a few chicken recipes set out
Just as a backup
Wouldn't want anything to go to waste
First I started simply
By grabbing the chicken and throwing
In different arcs
And different ways
None of it helped
Though I did get a good workout
Next came the catapult
In which the Chicken nestled
Safe and sound
Until I chopped the rope
Then flung high and wide
Right into the pile of target hay
But no flying
Despite the mad flapping
And the mechanical launch assist
There must be another way
That's when we made the cannon
Out of thick PVC
We put our brains together
And determined that propellent was the key
The chicken climbed in
On top of some cotton stuffing
I applied butane liberally to the breech
And it took two months
Until the chicken's feathers grew back
I was in a state of dismay
I figured it was all a waste of time
That was before I caught the chicken
Watching Discovery channel
And sipping my fine wine
It was a show about a flying wing-suit
The chicken thought this was just the ticket
And it planned carefully
As it chewed thoughtfully on a cricket
In yet another month
All was made ready
And on a sunny Sunday morning
A hot air balloon ride was arranged
The chicken in a custom wing-suit
Although I did tell it it looked rather silly
I offered the chicken a backup parachute
But the chicken would have none of it
Off in the balloon that chicken went
Giving me the wing and telling me to get bent
That's kind of how I've arrived here
Sitting at the kitchen table
With a fine roasted chicken center stage
Complete with all the fixings
The chicken went up
The chicken jumped out
The chicken tumbled and fumbled about
The chicken landed with a thud
Amidst varied cries of "Watch out!"
It seemed a shame for the chicken to go to waste
Especially after it had drank all my wine
And so I gave thanks that it had landed on my property
Thus offering such a tasty opportunity to dine
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