There was a bad mood,

Running amok in the hanger,

Privates running scared from angry sargeants,

Sargeants fuming at lieutenants,

Lieutenants exhausted of barking captains,

All it would take was a wrench to clatter,

To have a broken arm “accidentally” appear,

The stressed mood could have been cut with a spoon.

A corporal,

Feeling the tension,

Felt that he must do something,

To ease the minds of those around him,

He climbed up the wing,

He climbed higher yet to the fuselage,

He folded his arms back into his elbows,

He clucked like a chicken, 

He bracked,

He bobbed his head, 

He moved and sounded like a chicken.

Everyone stopped what they were doing,

All stopped fussing and watched,

Officer and non-coms,

Watched the stupid corporal,

The corporal moved up and down the spine of the big plane,

Visible for all to see,

All the stress and tension left,

All felt relieved as the man descended from his perch,

The Chicken Man lived on as a favorite story to be told,

Forever after.