When they come for me, I am neither girl nor boy, I am neither clam nor cock.
I have neither hooves nor snout. But I have claws; I grunt and growl,
show my teeth. I do not need wings to create a windstorm, I do not need talons
to break skin; I can snarl and scrape. I can unhinge my jaw to fit a head twice
the size of mine inside. I can be razor-backed and spike-edged when he tries to skin me,
to unscale my silvery back, debone my brazen hen-hide. I will be foulmouthed and crooked-necked.
I will be the chicken-head they know me to be, if it will save my life. When he comes for me,
I will remember the coop, how they gathered the fowl girl up by the feet with warm hands and cooing.
How her brown hung low when they entered her into the guillotine and severed her head. How they plucked
her body until she was bare. I will remember the blood and what happens when they want you for food.