Dennis Spilchuk Poet Verse

Notes About The Poem

The Riddle

The Riddle

We live separate lives: one when we’re awake, which is
the one in which the devil partakes and to whom we pay our dues,
and the other is when we’re asleep, where we pray God to rest
our souls in peaceful bliss, as we exit reality and enter dreamland
or vice versa, depending on one’s beliefs, superstitions, or perspective.

And while in the latter, I conjured up myself eating in a soup kitchen
when I overheard one person say to another, in a convincing, intellectual way,
“Don’t feed ‘em too much, or else they’ll get fat and lazy,
but the chickens, let ‘em get fat: that’ll make for a better broth.”

Naturally, fat, lazy, farm-raised chickens make for a better broth,
and so I looked at my reflection in the window and conjectured
that it couldn’t be me they were referring to in this establishment.
And that was the gist of what I could remember when I awoke, but I
could hear the devil laughing because I didn’t understand the riddle.

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