Poem by Richard Stevenson
Mike, the Headless Chicken
Headless Chicken Mike
not only walked a while,
he ate through his neck!
Slept, pooped, and scooped
for eighteen months that way!
The axe man had missed
an important nerve which
relayed a message:
Mike, your head went that-a-way,
and so he did too, post haste.
Went lookin’ for weeks
until he came back with it
tucked under a wing.
Went straight to a seamstress
to get it re-attached.
It was a hot day
and Mike expired before he
could make his request.
Gurgled and purred but couldn’t say
how it was he wished to pay.
Richard Stevenson
Richard Stevenson recently retired from a thirty-year gig, teaching English and Creative Writing for Lethbridge College in southern Alberta and moved kit and caboodle to Nanaimo, B.C. His most recent books are Rock, Scissors, Paper: The Clifford Olson Murders (a long poem sequence) and A Gaggle of Geese ( haikai poems). A trilogy of cryptid, ET, and Fortean lore, Cryptid Shindig, and a further standalone volume in the series, An Abominable Swamp Slob Named Bob, are forthcoming.
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