Chicken Bonehead

Quite inadvertently, you see,

I put the chicken bones in my tea.

And later, when I’d lost all that I’d known,

I found them lying on my phone.

The bones and marrow, straight and narrow,

caught in my craw until I saw

that I couldn’t help but dwell in hell

as far and wide as I could smell.

She’d been my lady and always cooked

with chicken until I got hooked.

And now I really, really miss her

and dream that, as I try to kiss her,

the goddess of my destiny

will finally come right back to me.

But the chicken bones have turned to stone

and, woe is me, I’m all alone.