In light of the ever arising questions, jokes, reasoning, and philosophical musings of why the chicken crossed the road, I thought I’d 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.