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The chicken concentration camp

The chickens look unhappy,

lined up in a row.

Getting themselves fat for sale

at Wall Mart and K-Mart and Bi-Low.

Chicken’s ... thousands of chickens,

just standing in their cage.

Waiting to be eaten

when they grow of age.

And chicken’s sense of adventure

is locked too between bars.

Never seen a tree,

never seen a star.

Never stretched a wing,

never scratched the ground.

Forever in a two by one cage,

bound.

O chicken ... O poor little chicken,

I’m really sorry that your there!

It couldn’t be much of a life,

with this cruelty everywhere.

And O I don’t know what’s wrong with human,

or how he can justify this!

For if he can do this to any form of life,

there must be something that he’s missed.

There must be something in ‘the human,’

that is also ‘locked in a cage.’

Humans must be very ignorant and very sad and very mislead,

and quite likely in a rage.

And so … I hope chicken,

this will be all over for you soon.

© Written by Dominic John Gill 17/Dec/2004 www.poetry.net.au  dominicj7@poetry.net.au