Inspired by Joyce Kilmer’s poem Trees.
I doubt that I could ever eat
A plucked and roasted parakeet.
A parakeet sautẻed in butter
Would only make me squirm and mutter.
I won’t eat parakeet chow mein
Or sausage made from one. That's lame!
I wouldn’t eat one steamed in foil
Nor one deep-fried in peanut oil;
Not pickled, fried or barbequed;
Not shishkabobbed or Brunswick stewed.
A chef might serve it baked, with slaw;
A cannibal might nosh it raw.
To them, it’s just another meat…
But I won’t eat no parakeet.