Gil Scott-Heron
The chicken crossing will not be televised
It will not be sponsored by Colonel Sanders or
Brought to you by a contribution to your PBS station
From Chik-Fil-A
The chicken crossing will not be televised
(It might be on YouTube.)
anychick lived in a pretty how coop
and str e t c h e d
her chicken legs(white feathers
furled in the even
ing breeze)across
the sunset road because(pick peck)she
wanted(peck)to see
the
Capital(they didn’t
have those where she was from).
counselor: poetry crisis line, what is your emergency?
caller: the boys i mean are not refined
counselor: how is this your problem?
caller: they go with girls who buck and bite
counselor: and you disapprove? or were you bitten?
caller: they do not give a fuck for luck
counselor: personally, i’d be more concerned about blood-borne pathogens
caller: they hump them thirteen times a night
counselor: do they use protection?
caller: one hangs a hat upon her tit
counselor: not sure what that would protect her from.
caller: one carves a cross in her behind
counselor: that might protect her from vampires.
caller: they do not give a shit for wit
counselor: i’m not sure that’s relevant. why are we whispering?
caller: the boys i mean are not refined
counselor: are you afraid they might do something if they hear you?
caller: they come with girls who bite and buck
counselor: were you bitten? you never answered that.
caller: who cannot read and cannot write
counselor: wait–are they deliberately keeping them in a feral state?
caller: who
counselor: the girls who bite and buck and
caller: laugh
counselor: that sounds a little better. does the laughter sound joyous, or nervous, or–
caller: like they will fall apart
counselor: emotionally?
caller: and masturbate with dynamite
counselor: oh.
caller: the boys i mean
counselor: wait, the boys are the ones using dynamite to…uh…how is that even possible? i mean, unless they are…uh…
caller: are not refined
counselor: that’s putting it mildly.
caller: they cannot chat of that and this
counselor: to be honest, i’m having a hard time talking about this, too.
caller: they do not give a fart
counselor: i’d be afraid to pass gas, too, if i had explosives up my–
caller: for art
counselor: not for art or love or money.
caller: they kill like you would take a piss.
counselor: never mind “like”; they could kill *where* i take a–
caller: they speak whatever’s on their mind
counselor: who? the boys? the girls? the dynamite?
caller: they do whatever’s in their pants
counselor: apparently.
caller: the boys i mean are not refined
counselor: so you keep saying. but this sounds a bit more serious than using the wrong fork for the salad course.
caller: they shake the mountains when they dance.
counselor: what? all that, and you were just calling in a noise complaint?
