Chicken Brains

by Adriana Vazquez

My father and uncle

were only six and seven,

respectively,

he says,

when they were sent out

into the yard

to kill a chicken

for dinner.

They had seen it done

by their mother,

and father,

and four older brothers.

But they were only six and seven,

he says.

So, they improvised

with a clothes line,

baseball bat

and swung

the head off of that chicken

who ran and ran

with only half a brain

down the streets of

the imperial valley,

where the brothers were renamed

henry and johnny,

he says,

because it wasn’t good

to speak spanish

even if it was your name.

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About the Author

Adriana Vazquez is a writer from California now living on the East Coast. Her works on immigration and women’s issues have been published in a variety of outlets including the SF Examiner, Washington Examiner, and more. Vazquez has been writing poetry since she was 8 years old and her first poem was published in an issue of Highlights Magazine. @vazquezadri