04-22-2016, 02:37 AM
On April Seven, per the prompt, I lycanthroped into chickenness and posted the sad result. Today, with much regret, I imagined hypothecating lycanthroping into chickenness and thus reworked an old poem draft into something even sadder, as posted below:
We Could Be Chickens
I watched and tried other lives -
the large cat, four kinds of birds.
Flying chill-thrilled me but ended
in brain cramps from those so
undersized craniums.
As the tabby cat I moved with
the grace of jello, but worn down
by tail function, fell too frequently
to a state of repose.
And then the snake –
It seemed brilliant for a time
all stealth and glide–
to move without appendages.
But snow was too much and I want
to tell you I now think this -
we could be chickens
walking on two legs
toward what seems like a future -
water, light, heat.
We Could Be Chickens
I watched and tried other lives -
the large cat, four kinds of birds.
Flying chill-thrilled me but ended
in brain cramps from those so
undersized craniums.
As the tabby cat I moved with
the grace of jello, but worn down
by tail function, fell too frequently
to a state of repose.
And then the snake –
It seemed brilliant for a time
all stealth and glide–
to move without appendages.
But snow was too much and I want
to tell you I now think this -
we could be chickens
walking on two legs
toward what seems like a future -
water, light, heat.