I told them the sky was falling

by Liz Berkstresser

Alberto Rodríguez Santana

but all they did was peck at their reduced

rations of corn. Then they said the farmer would give

them the good seeds their ancestors ate. It rained

feathers outside but no one seemed to notice.

The truck just ahead is packed with crates. I have to laugh

and say stupid chickens, you’re killing me. When the floor

stops moving, they take us off the truck. There’s a trail

of blood leading to an open space with a green velvet floor.

There’s men in t-shirts holding drinks, towering over me.

I am gifted with shiny metal spurs, attached to my feet.

A man says this one will rip throats out, and I do.

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Liz Berkstresser is a former public school teacher, full-time parent/cat herder, and emerging writer. She has earned degrees in Political Science, Education, and English Literature. She lives in the woods of Missouri with her family. Her special interests are political ideology (so, she’s fun at parties), gluten free baking, and specialty coffee.