Preparation complete, my dad starts the frier.
Cracking clatter of oil sizzles around the house.
The first wings out of their bath remain the best.
I reach for another wing.

The preparation of the table commences for the night.
The sweet, savory soda sits in the fridge.
My brothers and I grab our fill like savages, and race for the table.
I reach for another wing.

Despite my efforts to avoid their attack,
the smelly, sticky sauce conquers my hands.
The fiery flames of the sauce pierces my tongue.
I reach for another wing.

Family gathers close,
talking of the day’s tales.
Remembering old distant memories.
I reach for another wing.

Dinner nears its end, and
I am the last lone survivor.
Dishes submerge in their soapy aquatic prison and
I reach for one final wing.