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4 Chickens: A Survival Story
It seemed to happen in a flash.
Our movements were rash.
Behind the breakfast bar
With scraps of potato hash.
Our webbed little feet
Stuck in a muddy mash.
Scores of us slip-slapping up the alley
Unabashed, with feathers
Mucked and thrashed
Finally on the road and--boom! Crash!
Linda was blindsided,
Some trucker with a stash.
There were eight of us now
Headed for a small pond in Wabash.
Just 200 waddles in the razor tall leaves
That thrash and slash.
Finally the four of us left see
Beyond the man-sized vines
The immaculate vision of the chicken party.
The most bodacious aquatic bash:
The one they call "The Chicken Splash."
Copyright ©
Matt Caliri
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