Chicken

We were skipping school one Wednesday.
At Forree’s farm I heard my friend say:
See that boy up in the window frame?
God, he sure is strange.
Stepping up, my pulse did quicken.
Saw a boy who’s raised by chickens
look me in the eye as if to say:
God is going to get you.
God is full of rage.
God is going to get you.
God, this boy is strange.
Rushing home, I warned my brother:
promise me you won’t tell mother.
Met a boy with feathers in his brain.
God, he sure is strange.
God, I want to forget him.
God, please help me change.
To this day my stomach sickens.
How’s a boy who’s raised by chickens
bother me with what he’d never say?
God, I’ll never forget you.
God, we never change.