much ado about chickens

she hadn’t put much thought into what she was going to do with six hundred chickens but here she is, glaring from the top of her stairwell at the shitting chickens clucking about her two-bedroom townhouse. God I love this house.

“Molly, Lucile, Lucienda, Kate, Gabby, Alexandra and you..” she paused in wait of a subtle sign as to what to name this feathered creature, “I’m not one to be closed-minded sooooooo, PAUL!” this chick was no rooster but she certainly was no hen.

“I’m gonna flip all you chickens into two-hundred thousand dollars”, echoed off the hollow eggshell walls, rattling the rails sending her new chickens into a fluttering banter. Javier would pay her just over $150 a cluck for these fine chicken legs and all she had to do was meet him on the corner of Pavulon and chiquita at 7:36 Wednesday evening. but what the hell is she supposed to do with six hundred chicken for the next three days.

Monday was the ideal spa day. she bought four inflatable pools and allowed her sweet chickens to sqwuak and hop from one bubbling platue to another. triggered by the persistent flame of her lighter they danced in the life saving water from above.

Tuesday was delicious. after three hours of rolling in butter and meal and shortening, She and Paul crumbled twelve pans of her grandmother’s hot water cornbread. she showered her sweet chickens with warm buttered bread and they ate until the only movement in the house was the rising and resting of their bellies.

but Wednesday, a bitter relief. Lucile tried desperately to leap from the second floor guest bedroom. Gabby began plucking the feathers off Paul. Her sweet chickens had grown wreckless and vengeful. They were hardly the chickens who she had enjoyed swimming and eating with.

but who the hell would love chickens.

“How could they be so ungrateful?” she pondered as she paced across the yellow tile from the sink to the stove.

“What chicken do you know that’s ever lived in a house? Oh Lucile, that bitch! And motherfuck Paul!” her mind was spinning in a whirlwind of rage. and easing her slip into insanity was the incessant dripping of ice cold water from the faucet to the basin, from the faucet to the basin, from the fau…

That water was my peace. My baptism. Here I could wipe my skin clean of dirt and oil all the while bathing my soul. Revealing covered hope and salvation.

appearing vacant from her mind, her hands splintering from clinching the wooden handled knifes , she sliced and diced and julienned her sweet chickens into low carb phillies without taking a moment to breath.


“Get up inmate! The cook’s prepared your dinner”

wiping the misery from my eyes, wishing i could bare just one more moment of rest. i finally glance into reality and what lies before me but a plate of chicken and rice.

“What, no bread?” i scoffed at the poetic irony.

“Pipe down inmate! Some bread won’t save you from that needle at 7:36 tonight. Enjoy this meal, it most certainly is your last.”