Chicken

A missing ‘t’.
I joined the kip
on the slab.
I did pull-ups
on the wish bone.

As the vlees
slid off, I fell in love
with my own face,
ook ook ook.
The breast bone,
ongekleed, shone.

The chicken had ranged free,
Komisch, stom
maar niet dom,
spijkerbroek en pet.
As a climber, I ascended a drumstick.

Wings of desire,
the sexy skin.
My shirt is pink.
I sit on the Buddha spot
and graaf kippenverhalen op.

The joints lie neatly on the board,
breast, thighs, legs, vleugels.
Let’s do this.