Poems about chicken

I have felt very creative recently but have managed to write these two poems about eating roast chicken. If you don't like reading about eating meat, that's fine. No need to read! 

Roasts and bones 

On Friday I made us a roast chicken 

Laying it all on the line hoping the root vegetables would crisp 

I hope you know how to slice 

You suggest we eat it with wraps or rice

Once again making me annoyed 

Like it’s your job 

We can drown our food in rich gravy 

Have a moment this weekend where I don’t sob

If the weather got cold or a guest was scheduled 

My family would buy a big chook to roast 

Or pork, always trying to top the crispiest crackling 

Or if we were really lucky, we would have lamb with mint sauce and mint jelly

Always always slathered in oil, salt, and gravy 

You keep trying to make suggestions to enhance the flavour 

I take offence wondering if you think the stereotype is true,

White people don’t know their seasoning 

I get squeamish when I watch you, neutral-faced, chow down on a bone from my fried rice

But I think nothing of biting through the brittle bone of a chicken wing 

We sit parallel crunching through skin, meat and bone 

We slurp, we lick, we dab our fingers on our puckered lips

Sucking off the last of the gravy 

Our resistance is weak but we manage to reserve some for sandwiches the next day

I tell you about Christmas lunches that run so late they become dinners, 

The lazy days between Christmas and new year, 

Filled with gravy, stuffing-filled turkey sandwiches 

And lots of indigestion 

You boil the carcass, but not before you remove every single feasible piece of meat left on the bone 

You tell me that the broth is good for chicken soup 

Or that we could boil it and make fragrant chicken rice  

I tell you repeatedly “I’m scared, I don’t know what to do, put it in the freezer”

We laugh, we play, we argue, we make up, and we eat 

Too chicken 

Tenderloins, nuggets, wings, thighs, drumsticks, breast

Poised with your carving knife asking me which I like best 

Tearing into the bones with my bare hands

Getting into the ligaments, the cartilage, Too chicken to chew right down to the bone 

The grease is seeping right into my skin 

I could have sworn you were a vegetarian? 

Marked by every animal I devour 

I could have sat shoving meat into my mouth for hours 

Leaving you to question your own free will

In this line of work, I eat what I kill 

You’ve got to eat it all before it spoils 

Bring it down to a simmer, once it boils 

I didn’t mean to be so visceral 

Looking at the ends and all that’s left is gristle 

It’s a shame I can’t eat KFC 

It doesn’t sit well with me 

I would binge all day if I could

Fighting the feminine urge to walk into the woods