the chicken

my grandmother
would go out into her
squared
short yard in south
philly,
arched with grape vines
and figs,
a cherry tree,
and wring a chicken's
neck with a simple twist
her muscled italian
hand.
pluck it clean,
chop it
into parts, boil and bake,
no part not saved,
and have it with veal
meatballs
and penne pasta
for a
wine soused meal
in no time.