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Abutting an abandoned barn,
A crib devoid of corn,
With weathervane and cupola,
The rooftop, sagged and worn.
The corncrib was repurposed
By fowl society,
A chicken troupe, Barred Plymouth Rocks,
The white variety.
This granary was their concert hall
With only room to stand,
For nightly concerts were sold out for
For this uncommon band.
Bandleader of this feathered group,
This five-fowl poultry show,
A southern bird of Creole stock
Was dubbed Ole Chick’ Gumbo.
Ole Gumbo plucked the banjo strings,
On French horn — Cordon Bleu,
With Kiev on percussion,
And Lo Mein played kazoo.
The fifth fowl, in a wash tub,
He floundered on dry land.
Sans feathers, Chicken from the Sea,
His job—tuna the band.
White feathers ruffled as they crooned,
Laud for their chicken breed.
They danced till eggs were scrambled.
They sang for chicken feed.
Cordon Bleu stuck in his craw
His spare chapstick supply.
It came in handy, between songs,
When chicken-lips got dry.
And Kiev on percussion,
Brushed cymbals with his tail,
And when he had a solo,
Made chicken drumsticks flail.
Gumbo kept the songs up-beat,
His banjo on his knee.
He picked with pomp and circumstance,
His notes were extra crispy.
Misfortune struck one chicken,
A pox upon Lo Mein,
No longer able to kazoo,
He could not entertain.
The band was sympathetic,
In order to console,
They gave Lo Mein a paperback
“Beef Stew for Chicken’s Soul.”
Auditions held, to fill his spot,
A hog stood in their midst.
A rumor breathed to chicken ears,
“The pig’s a chauvinist.”
The hearsay disregarded,
The porcine was recruited.
The pig squealed, “I am white meat, too,
And for this group well-suited.”
Their chicken-band, Barred Plymouth Rocks
Would now sum-total three,
And pig, another white meat,
And one Chicken from the Sea.
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