In light of the ever arising questions, jokes, reasoning, and philosophical musings of why the chicken crossed the road, I thought Id add my mustard to the discussion in the form of a small piece of prose. Yes I tried to think like a chicken, I tried to set myself into her (yes her, otherwise it would have been a rooster) mindset, why would I cross a road. Without making pretence to any cultural or economic situation or background of the chicken, I tried to set myself into Chickenness
I hope that I have succeeded in some small way.
The chicken, the road, the other side
Feathers itching, beak yellow.
The road.
The taste of the last worm still salty on my tongue
The road calls.
My feathers itch
I scratch, and still the road
It calls.
other side, other side it whispers, it calls
I must follow.
Run, I run, zigging and zagging
My feathers itching, my head buzzing, the road, it whispers under my running, my scratching feet. other side it calls.
I arrive, exhaustion pours over me.
My feathers.
The road
It calls.