His leg, it was a bitter mess,
His feathers lived with too much stress
His beak was but a crackled chip
Don't even ask about his hip.
The sands of time had mottled him,
Jim Croce said to call him 'Slim'...(or was it Leroy Brown? One of the two)
His features were quite dull and dim,
He tasted awful parmeshinned (yes! it's a word! Don't look it up, though).
His love life was a horrid wreck
And what's that wobbling on his neck??
I wish he'd bought some body tethers,
Cause look at all those missing feathers!
But then one day, the farmer came,
And said 'my God, you're looking lame!'
And then he looked from wife to chicken,
And said my gosh, what the frickin'? (that's how farmers talk).
I reckon I must fix you up,
Before the others say wha's sup?
Cause that's how younger chickens say,
'My God, you look like Auntie May!'
(the grieving Auntie Mae, after Uncle Ben(not the rice guy) died in Spiderman. She really wasn't too concerned about her appearance that day. Normally, she's a fine looking, elderly lady, mind you. Sometimes Peter Parker drove her a little crazy, with all that Spider action noise in his bedroom, but she still put herself together well at those times, but sometimes the loss of a loved one makes you disregard grooming. Once, when I lost my pet millipede, I wore two different socks for the entire day and didn't even notice. People made terrible fun(fum) of me, until I changed my story completely, and told them it was a pet goat, and then they were quite indifferent. Actually, millipedes are very affectionate pets, and will sometimes crawl all over you when they want a bowl of food. Another time, when Billy McSquiggin's cat died(he had a quadruple infection. His infection got infected, and then that got infected, and so on. When you looked at it, it looked like the infection went on forever, like one of those pictures where the mirror, or something in the background, creates the same picture again and again and again, and it looks like it goes on forever), I wore a baseball cap on my foot for a week. It was embarrassing(in a confusing, shameful way), but it just goes to show what grief can do to the proper placement of hat wear. Another time, when Billy McSquiggins(he's my pet millipede) lost half of his legs in a unfortunate haircut accident, I called him a semi-millipede, for lack of a better term. He threw a rock at me. But I digress(I hope I know what that word means, and it doesn't mean 'achieve some type of nudity), but we'll see. Anyway, on with the poem).
He fetched a young, old chicken groomer
Who primped and sprayed, and ate Good Humor
Until our lovely, feathered friend,
Looked not so much like a rear e*d.
And all the chickens laughed and sang,
For Herbert looked like Vera Wang,
And all in life was good again,
Except for Spidey's Uncle Ben.
The End (thank God).
Anyway, as you can see, sometimes I write poems with moralistic virtue, rather than just icky love sonnets(kidding, one written to), and this one has many facets of ethics and morals to it, I think...I'm just too tired to expand on them. Although, I think the main moral of the story is that you don't always have to look dumpy. Sometimes all you need is a young, upcoming, hungry stylist, and a not so ecstatic Aunt Mae. Also, when preparing chicken with spaghetti sauce, and mozzerella cheese on it, choose a corn fed bird. Herbert neglected his diet terribly, and could often be seen sneaking a 20 piece McNugget after church on Sundays...which is another thing! Go to church, and maybe the priest will loan you his Aquanet. Anyway, a lot of morals in there, so figure them out, and thanks for not reading me, as usual. : )