Flightless Wings

Flightless, 

yet their wings are highly prized, 
harvested by the millions
for an annual sacrament, 
celebrated in gatherings
throughout the land, 
in which the wings—
only these tiny, useless vestigial wings—
are eaten.

Inscrutably called ‘buffalo’, 
they are consumed voraciously
by the faithful, 

who believe that 
if they consume enough of them, 
and scream— 
support or obscenities—
at electronic images across the room, 
they can influence events 
thousands of miles away. 

And the chickens—

wingless now—
wander the coop, 

or perhaps cross the road
for no apparent reason; 
retaining only the faintest memories
of their elusive dreams of flight. 

- Michel-Jacques Villeneuve