by Jeffrey H. MacLachlan
First thing to know: we breed our chicken blood for corrosion. Once free from its host, it chews through boots, denim, and ammonia masks to sniff fresh veins to loop through. Smoking breaks are permitted at night when skies look like a murder investigation shining federal flashlights upon you. Regardless of pigment, your skin will jiggle like gelid albumen after long shifts.
You are the most important person in our company. After you tase live chicken hearts still, you must separate the body into correct categories for suburban families to charcoal for Labor Day picnics. This should give you a horripilation. Remember to not fear the blood, as everything in America turns red. The dirt settles petty as penny dust and Lake Sinclair clots docks and squawks, then boils like phoenix stew. So will it be with you.
[Check out Jeffrey’s backporch wisdom here]
