Friday Poetry
Ode to a Flightless Bird
The air was black with beating wings
A flash of steel ripping soft flesh
The stench of scorched meat
Tossed and turned
Laid out in neat rows
Vitality draining below
Flinching at the scalding hiss
Life extinguished
It is finished
No more Kiwis flying
At this BBQ
3 comments:
Rhys is much cuter than BBQ chicken! How about a little update on the JonesCam site???
Pleeeeeze, for his granny...and his papa!!!
Its not chicken, its Kiwi...
Update is coming real soon!
Push em over a cliff.
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