longer.blue

~ If you have a house You can buy a roast chicken And refrigerate ~ On the surface, this haiku describes an utterly mundane act — purchasing a roast chicken and storing it in the refrigerator — but beneath this domestic image lies a sharp commentary on the invisible privileges that housed people take entirely for granted. The poem's power comes from what it leaves unsaid. The conditional "if you have a house" reframes an ordinary grocery store moment as a gated experience, one unavailable to those without stable shelter. For someone experiencing houselessness, the chicken cannot be bought in the way most people buy it — as a multi-day food source, a meal that stretches across lunches and dinners, bones saved for broth. Without refrigeration, food must be consumed immediately or not purchased at all, which fundamentally alters one's relationship to nourishment, cost-efficiency, and dignity. The unhoused person cannot participate in the economy of abundance; they are locked into a perpetual economy of scarcity and urgency. There is also a quiet irony embedded in the choice of a roast chicken specifically. It is not a luxury item — it is arguably one of the most affordable, practical, protein-rich foods available. The poem does not reach for caviar or champagne to illustrate inequality. It chooses the humble rotisserie bird, suggesting that even the most ordinary comforts of sustenance are conditional on having a roof and a plug in the wall. The brevity of the haiku form mirrors the stripped-down reality it describes. Three lines, no ornamentation, no sentimentality — just a plain logical structure: 𝘪𝘧, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯. That coldly rational framing makes the poem sting more than any emotional appeal could. It asks the reader to complete the unspoken clause: 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To support me, visit: https://tinyurl.com/andy-rukes ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~