Universal Truths

I look at its voracious beak
And eyes that pierce right through me
Those beady eyes, what do they seek
Those pupils, dark and gloomy

First Contact’s filling me with dread
I monitor its vitals
The ruby comb, the feathered head
Appears to match its titles

We stand, its wings won’t let it sit
And now they serve our dinner
God, let it be a total hit
Then I’ll come home a winner

I watch it as it stabs its plate
And here the plot does thicken
It swallows, then, merciful fate
It comments, “tastes like chicken”