If it weren’t for the iridium
in the strata,
the rulers of the roost
would still be dinosaurs—
the peak of the pecking order.
Waking us on the farm
instead of the drawl of
Foghorn Leghorn.
I’ve heard deGrasse & Dawkins
say the chickens are dinosaurs.
That Colonel Sanders knew it
from the start. But none would
buy a share in KFD.
Everything tastes like
poultry in the end.
It’s just the batter
we all want.
We were never their
heir apparent; and
it’s apparent we’ll be
dethroned—usurpers
who have gobbled
their remains.
What did you think you
fed your Maserati?
Texas tea? Oro negro?
The fumes are but their
laughter laughing last.
Even in their bones
they cackle best.
Those magnificent,
regal bones.
Andreas Gripp
March 31, 2026
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