Some poems based on the question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” written by some of my talented and humor-enhanced FB friends.
But first, a cartoon:
the black expanse,
I clucked to myself,
wondering.
Beak canted,
beady eyes narrowed,
I knew the answer.
Once.
Maybe, I left it there,
On the other side.
A chicken and a squirrel walk into a bar;
leisurely strutting about, and feeling peckish,
the chicken attacks the popcorn bowl,
and the squirrel, the peanuts.
A few drinks later, the chicken emerges
and meanders, clucking and clueless,
across the avenue,
the squirrel scampering close behind.
Now, squirrels are faster, and have more options
than a flightless, brainless bird.
And yet…
the chicken survives the transit, unscathed;
the squirrel is (as ever) roadkill.
Forget the question of chickens and roads–
Why do squirrels even try?
I strut, my feathers ruffled, looking for other chickens
I see them, those proud preening fellows so colorful clucking to attraction
I am the cock of the walk. I am larger than life, larger than death,
Larger than all of Manhattan!
Make way, make way for my cock-of-the-walk walk!
You can tell by the way I walk I’m a dancin’ cock!
And so, however I shall end up, I will be toasted and I will be enjoyed and
I am you and you are he and we are all together…
I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
No, wait:
Goo goo g’ job
I most certainly am not merely “a Thing with Feathers”;
When I perch, I am making something far better than Hope–
Perfection in an Egg.
Biscuit City 
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AWESOME, guys!!