Poetry in English (XCIV): Constantin ROMAN – “Ode to a British Chicken”
In Praise of the British Chicken
Ode to a British Chicken
My British Chicken,
I’m truly smitten
‘cause, if you vanished
I ‘d be really lost.
I‘d rather have you roasted,
As without you
My Menu, on the spot,
Will soon be tossed.
My ever-present chick,
You’re inexpendable
My gas ring will be pining
Without you
An Old Flame
And British Gas
For sure, will be insolvent,
As its best client,
Now will go to pass.
My dearest fowl
You got a life in prison
With all your sisters, without rhyme or reason,
All jam packed cheek by jowl.
In batteries you are now a statistic,
Industrial gulag, which puts to shame
A number rather more characteristic
Of Soviet era, at its grimmest game.
Junk Food
My dearest Supermarket, I’m addicted
To buy for ever all your tasteless junk,
As my dependency is now to be predicted
A boring number of a faceless skunk.
Your sheer manipulation, so disgusting,
Is flying in the face of common sense.
Blindfolded crowds are being hold to ransom,
Automatons with limbs, but without brains..
In my despair I’ll try to be more vocal
But am afraid, as being middle-class,
I will be deemed to fart above my station
And turn my reputation to an ass.
Post Script:
This being said, I praise Edwina Currie,
The Minister of salmonella fame,
Who caused the British Egg to go and hurry
To clean its act, in spite of all its gain.
Copyright © Constantin ROMAN
London, October 2011
Edwina Currie Memoirs
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