Ginger Ale, by Eileen Myles 

you don’t

want

to think

about 

chickens

going

over London.

Millions

of chickens

opening

their 

eyes

for one second

waking

up in a

cage

no in a wide

field

of tiny

chickens

like a

mile wide

tray

and they

get these

chemicals

on their

feet that’s

the only

way I can

imagine

it filled 

with sex

drug

that makes

them

wild

distorted

crippled

and how

do they

kill the

chickens

all at

once where

did chickens

come

from anyway

some 

chickens

wake up

in some

nice

place & wind

up @

Lesley’s

where

they lived

for a while

having

friends

living in her

yard

with

their

different

personalities

but the millions

and trillions

of the other

kind

one flash

of light

then they’re

eaten

on a plane

we’re 

flying

& we’re

eating

them &

aren’t 

they 

birds

and the

plane

is going

over

water

now

a plane

full 

of killers

desperately

looking

for something

good with

their 

fingers

but there’s

nothing

good

how 

could

there 

be. The 

chickens

death

is not

on your 

hands

something

else is.