Of Gods and Chickens

Chickens
What a tender meat
To eat
How sweet
Until you realise
what
it is
you’re eating.
God!
Not that chicken’s themselves are gods
In fact they’re quite the opposite
Like matter, anti-matter
There are gods and chickens
Chickens cluck
Gods transmit
harmonious melodies
Chickens flap around
with heads chopped off
madly fluttering
feathers from disconnected wings
Whilst the god-head smiles benevolently
But chickens taste good
Except when they’re bad
And I’ve never tasted God
Have I?
(Unless the Catholics are right
about those insipid wafers.)