Best Broiler Poems

Her comb is no longer red. 
It’s meaningless to preen. 
She stands hunched as a deadpan mushroom.
Only flesh matters in her man-made coop. 
. 
She cannot forage in freedom.
She’s not a living thing.
There isn’t any wax to seal the pain-pores. 
Bedding absorbs her vibrancy. 
A...

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Stroller and Broiler and a Molar

Had been boiling eggs in a broiler,
And took son for ride in a stroller;
Wheels went round,
On the ground,
While he had grown another molar.

Jim Horn...

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