Clumped at the bottom of the rusty
Sieve, next to the unwashed cleaver,
deprived of life affirming
Collagen, the declawed chicken feet
Linger limply on, the last of their
Pungent poultry odor clinging closely by.
Reminiscences of chicken soup for someone
Else’s soul, the souring, fading smells
Do not bring sweet succor to the
Owners of feet that no more will walk
About scratching the scarred ground for
Life giving, gizzard loving stones.