• Monthly
  • $25
  • $50
  • $100
  • $other
  • use PayPal
Support Our Annual Fund Drive!

We don’t run advertisements. We don’t take money from big foundations or any government entity. We are solely supported by you, our readers. Please, if you have the means, chip in to help us reach our annual fund drive goal. The sooner we do so, the sooner we can get back to business.

FacebookTwitterRedditEmail

On the Chicken Egg Farm 

On the Chicken Egg Farm 

The bullseye
With its golden center
Isn’t that an egg as well?
Well?
Maybe, she said, you freeze
an egg, and though it cracks
it remains intact
then slip it in a sock like that
and go and give a cop a whack
shout ham and eggs
and smack his head
it’s likely, though,
he’ll shoot you dead
That’s what she said
And we all laughed
With the unceasing humming
and unceasing harms
on the chicken egg farm
And sang this song:
If I were born
on a chicken egg farm
I’d like to be born
a chicken’s son
You know, right?
what they do to them?
The daughters get
their beaks snipped off
and worked like slaves
until they drop
but the sons are killed
on the day they’re born
they suffer much less
on the chicken egg farm

Elliot Sperber is a writer, attorney, and adjunct professor. He lives in New York City and can be reached at elliot.sperber@gmail.com and on twitter @elliot_sperber

FacebookTwitterRedditEmail