Tender Chicken

A satire on inequality.

Twelve hours, since I last ate a morsel.
Twelve hours, since bread touched my lips,
Twelve hours, since the stomach is half empty.
And many, much more since my last plenitude.

I Beg, Begged, Dragged, Drained;
Spent, Shattered, Fagged, Faint;
yet never enough food to stop the growls.

My eyes quiver and I hope to sleep,
believing it to be my last and eternal.
It is true,
Our kind has never been able to say for sure,
Whether a friend, family, neighbour or foe
may wake to see the next morning.

If it be my last night, kind Sir,
Can I wish for something too?
Even a man facing the gallows has his last wish fulfilled.

Not asking for much,
Just the taste of one of those famous Fried Tender Chickens,
Juicy and well spiced.
A crisp crust that would break in my mouth,
Melting away the soft chicken meat inside.
Should I?
May I?

My last wish.
My first, tender chicken.