Chicken and Worm

[deryk]

Chicken and Worm

So there was this kid,
his parents loved him so much that
when he was born
instead of dashing his head off
they kept him in the coup
with the family chickens.
He was raised for 12 years
by a pile of wood and caca
and fluff.
When he finally made it to the
cognitive psych clinic, they
could never teach him to
talk like a person.

So I can sympathize, I mean
I’ll never be able to talk and go,
living in an old house with old books
and old trees.
My friends call, and they say,
“You know you’ll never integrate,
there are dead trees as far as
the eye can see, and
roads that go to nowhere.”
So I say, “it isn’t my choice.”
“Does it matter?”
“No.”

So like the Boy Chicken,
I’m Earthworm caught on gravel.
I mean,
futility knows me
more than I’ll ever know myself,
you know?

[Delta40]

I'm not very good at interpretation. This poem has a rather depressing, sombre feel to it - as if hiding oneself from the world is the only choice. I like the dialogue and dead trees and roads which go nowhere. The easy end line with no direction, especially how futility knows me more than I'll ever know myself.

[deryk]

Thanks Delta40. As a favorite poet of mine once said, "It never helps to explain your poem, but it might hurt if you try." The hammer and nail are firmly yours, and I think you've used them well on my bones.