You’re on a transatlantic flight, the wines and liquor flow,
Up in first class, served liberally, you get a pleasant glow.
The dinner hour’s approaching; you peruse what’s on the list
And can’t believe your eyes, there’s surely something you have missed.

Your dinner choices: chicken or fresh cow shit with ground glass.
(A shocking menu choice when you are flying in first class.)
You do a double take; the menu choices make you choke.
It’s like you’re reading Kafka; there must be some hidden joke.

The stewardess is waiting and it’s time that you select.
Your choices are quite clear, you know, because you’ve double-checked.
Of course, the choice seems obvious, it’s clear, all terms defined.
The menu only has one page; you must make up your mind.

Of course, you take the chicken, for there’s nothing else to do.
The stewardess notes down your choice and turns away from you.
The passengers across the aisle, at first just sat and stared.
And then one asked the server, “How’s the chicken been prepared?”