She walks around with crusted feet
Around the feces that makes her keep
Her beak down,
Solemn and low.
Amongst the thousands of white birds of snow,
Too close to call she sees her mother
Smothered with chemicals.
Toxicity reaches all time highs
As her own feet begin to buckle
Under the weight of her protruding belly.
She sits next to the one who birthed,
Taken aback by the cage she resides
Not knowing why,
Not knowing how
Someone could make this pain so vigilant,
So on purpose;
Yet her feet get crunched under her chest.
White birds of snow begin to unrest.
A light is shown through the door.
Bundles of boots storm around her head
Grab her by the neck,
Thrown in a truck with thousands of white birds of snow.
Infinite miles pass
The hail, the snow, the wind, the rain–
They all pass without much disdain.
Water and food lacks of presence
As thousands of white birds of snow lose their breathing.
Again in confinement,
The room is hot;
The ringing of slaughter in the air reeks with the present.
The ones who lived are taken and shot.
The survivors are thrown into seemingly empty pots
Until the scalding hot oil begins to rot
On her feathers and on her face.
She dies slowly because that’s what she was manufactured to do.
That death was the reason for her living