The Unknown: The Orange Line.

Dear Frank,

I am somewhat reluctant to divulge the secrets of the way I taught poetry, however, since you are a good friend and I trust you, I shall divulge.
  1. On the first day of the unit, I began by bringing a live chicken into the classroom. I instructed my students to write a few lines on the beauty of the chicken, dumb loud fowl although it was. Then I slit its throat.

  2. On the second day of class, I instructed my students to write a poem about the previous class. And write they did.

  3. On the third day of class, I served them fried chicken, and instructed them to eat the whole three pieces, or fail the class. And they did.

  4. On the fourth day of class, I instructed them to write a poem about eating chicken.

  5. On the fifth day of class, I showed them an industrial film of a chicken processing plant (dis)assembly line and instructed them to take notes. I smiled at those students who weren’t taking notes. Then they did.

  6. On the sixth day of class, I instructed them to write a poem about chicken.

  7. On the seventh day, I told them that we would all rest, but to pay close attention. We watched videos of Foghorn Leghorn, and the students then had a surprise chance to meet the San Diego Chicken, who was an ass, but nice, and amusing.

  8. On the eighth day, I instructed them to write a poem involving defamiliarization.

  9. On the ninth day we marinated breasts.

  10. On the tenth day, we wrote form(al) poetry, about chickens.

  11. On the eleventh day, we compared T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland” to chicken lifestyles, and we wrote free verse.

  12. Then we were done.

    I hope this has been of some help to you. Give me some e-mail. My address is:

    Best wishes, prosperity,
    Joy, and intellectual authenticity,


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