the unfair advantage

The Unfair Advantage.

I.
You were born a chicken,
I was raised to hunger after your featherless, butchered flesh.

You were prepared, shipped and translated, marinated in bbq sauce.
I am at the airport, hungry.

II.

You were in the a la carte section,
an island in the new JetBlue foodcourt
surrounded by the same overpriced burgers, cheesesteaks, chinese food and pizza
(though now each store is made over with offerings of wine by the glass).

I will not spend between $10-15 for airport monopoly food.
I believe in the marketplace
and so was happy to see you in this island section,
where, though fearful of the lack of sneeze guard,
I could and did simply pick you
along with a dallop of mashed potatoes
and a single steamed broccoli and carrot slice
for color their bright green and orange hues.

At $7.99 a pound, you cost me only $4 something.
Yet the Pepsi added 2 and a nickel.

The total bill, relatively good for relatively good meal.

IV.

I paid and sat. I went back for cutlery. There are no knives at the airport,
not even plastic. Only spoons and forks.

And as I hold your uncut, marinated breast high into the air and nibble off piece to piece, I think about you, your roost, your mother hen.

I thought I had the unfair advantage. And I do. I was raised to hunger after your flesh. You were born a chicken.
Yet we were both penned.
Chicken wire can be so thin, nearly invisible to naked eye–but cutting just as deep.

Really.