Poem Post #3 The Kitchen Chicken

This was first ever poem I wrote for poetry class.  At the time, I thought poetry consisted of only rhymes and rhythms. It's called The Kitchen Chicken.

The air is dry and the light is dim,

Morning has come, in this kitchen within.

The silence is loud,

The colors are white,

A plain kitchen it is,

Without any light.

But as the sun comes up,

The kitchen starts to glow,

Footsteps down the stairs,

Mom comes in all nappy and slow.

She opens the oven,

To cook her favorite dish,

Green pistachio muffins,

A meal to certainly cherish.

But what a sight to see,

Inside the oven did she.

 A flea covered chicken,

She left unintentionally.

100 flies some dead some flying,

Mom screamed and ran out, sympathizing.

“O Why O Me?!”

A rage she unshed.

But silenced Mom became,

As the chicken turned its head.

The horror it was,

To see it alive,

Staring into her soul,

As its wings start to rive.

But the story ends here,

For ideas I am out,

An ending you could make,

 I don’t have a doubt.