These Geese, Man


These geese, man, they hunt

In feral packs, snakes stacked

On top of chicken breasts,

You know, one hissed at me

Just for putting my hand

On the small of its back?

These mini medusas have

Aggressive business practices,

They’re mean, angry

Things with wings, man,

And I guess we aren’t supposed

To send them bread pics,

Or hug them without asking first,

And if we dare to stare too long,

They turn our profits into stone.

These geese, they don’t

Even smile, they refuse to wear

High heels, and stalk the sales floor

In those ugly raptor feet.

These geese are mean, man,

It’s like they want us to back off,

But that can’t be. Of course not,

They all want us to pet them—

Why else would they be so soft?