The part of the country in which I live has two distinctions: first, it is the home of WalMart and second, it is the headquarters of Tyson Foods. These two multi-billion dollar corporations have been the lifeblood for our region as well as the economic engine for the rest of the state. (I think it could be argued the success of these two entities, both as employers and producers, has fueled an otherwise lackluster US economy for years. For anyone who has an argumentative inclination, no, I’d rather not debate negative stories or trash talk about either corporation.)
Right near where I live, there are numerous chicken farms with production houses that extend about 400 foot long (approximately) and house as many as 11,000 birds. When I’m out driving, it’s not uncommon to see an eighteen-wheeler with a trailer full of chickens destined for market. Through the years, we’ve seen stray chickens off the trucks scurrying along the street-side, and friends of mine have been known to capture the birds for their own backyard chicken coops or stew pots. Yes, it’s amusing.
As the home campus for the University of Arkansas, there’s also a large Poultry Science department with its poultry research and other assorted courses of study dedicated to poultry production. When my children were members of 4H, they entered the county’s cooperative extension office competitions for grilling chicken.
Given this environment, my versification has (on occasion) veered to the nonsensical for some light-hearted ribbing about the industry that has shaped the economy of our region. This poem is longer than I like to post here, but I can’t help indulging my silly side this week!
In writing this particular poem, I didn’t intend to demean the local accent nor the tendency in speech for some locals to drop syllables (which in this specific case, makes poetry sound very much like poultry. You might need to live here to understand.) So please, no offense intended, and I hope no offense taken!
Ha! Oh man, that brings back memories. When we first moved to Arkansas I applied for a job at Tyson. I don’t think I really knew what happened in a Tyson plant. When I turned in my application, the lady who took it asked, “Are you afraid of big knives?” I think my eyes must have bugged out as I said, “No?” Thank goodness I wasn’t hired!
I can’t imagine being hired in a poultry plant. Glad you didn’t get hired, because we might have never met!
You should be consistent when dropping the “g” at the end of words endin(g) with “ing.” You did with “spellin” and “standin,” and “writin,” but then I came upon “shaking” and did a double take. Of course not all words endin(g) with “ing” are worthy of the drop. And you showed proper usage in that respect; “things” and “anything,” for example. But who am I to critique such otherwise refreshing refrains? Nobody but an English major answer I.
Thanks for your comment, TC. I appreciate your observation. When I was preparing the image to post, I noticed the inconsistency. I can’t speak for my thoughts when I wrote the poem (many years ago), but my intention (likely) was to set the tone with initial dropped “g” spellings and then permit the reader’s ear to ‘hear’ the rest. I suspect you’re familiar with egghead to-do-or-not-to-do dialect discussions. (As the poem reflects, I’m double-minded on the subject.) If I had edited the poem before posting, I’d probably also have changed “things” to “thangs” and “anything” to “anythang” but opted instead to let it go as originally written. Thanks again for your input!
Tone was ideal. And I don’t pronounce “thing” as “thang,” although some backwoods friends of mine will. Don’t read too much into my critique, your wording doesn’t take away from the imagery of your poems. I’ve enjoyed reading them!
I’m glad you enjoy the poems. Keep reading & critiquing as needed!
I will indeed.
One other little item…
In case you’re wonderin(g) how I know about droppin(g) the “ing,” I’m from south-central Kentucky where if you’re heard pronouncin(g) an “ing” endin(g) word without droppin(g) the “g” you’re automatically labeled a damn Yankee. (Please excuse the mild expletive, I used it for emphasis only.)
I don’t doubt your expertise here. Nobody wants to be labeled a “damn Yankee.”
I’m from North Carolina and I’m havin a hard time with the spell checker on my computor…. Tryin to put togehtha a comment on this post!!! I caint stop laughin long enough to git rid of the red lines that keeps poppin up under the words…. To much figurin!!!!! LOL
I absolutely loved the Poem,
Take Care and God Bless 🙂 Kenny T
Thanks for your comment and your praise, Kenny! I’ve been hesitant to post this kind of poem because of its terribly silly nature, but with encouragement from you and others, I know there will be more to come. So glad you enjoyed it! Thanks again.
I was thinking about re-blogging this tomorrow….. If you say it’s OK…
Kenny, I’m honored and delighted. Please go for it! You flatter me more than I could ever deserve. Blessings on you!
Reblogged this on Morning Story and Dilbert.
DELIGHTFUL reading! Enjoyed all the clever rhymes as much as the surprise ending. (I really expected you to win!) Thank you for making us smile today!
Thanks for your comment. I’m glad you enjoyed the poem. It just goes to show, the poems I’m most reluctant to post end up being the ones people enjoy the most! Thanks again!
oh, quite fun! 🙂 And the last line is perfect.
Thanks so much for reading and commenting! Hope to hear from you again.