portrait of my dad as Chick-Fil-A
more weekly than church—
park in manicured car, sweet tea
chicken nugget baby plastic
playground. asphalt stuck to
my knees like gum, scrape off sharp
notch. wave at 5 strangers each
visit, your name, their greeting.
phone call every other
weekend, 11 AM, white & red
bags crisp and clean like khakis.
my brothers’ first job, homeschool
heart-throb, kissed a Methodist
girl through the drive-thru.
even now, I find comfort in
fried chicken, sometimes cruising
toasted for something that tasted
like home or a version of it I could’ve
inhabited, sharp as a dollar bill until I
remember the ugliness underneath—
the pressure washing of white boards,
silver cross necklace, Walmart purity
ring, empty Crest grin, wooden spatula
paddle, Bible belt bitch slap, rooftop
secrets where the stars could
swallow you whole. nowadays,
I make spicy chicken sandwiches.
draped in arugula, jalapeño ranch, queso
fresco sizzled into a crunchy brioche. crumbs pool
like rain in the crevice of my t-shirt as Guy
Fieri blasts across the screen & my phone rings
& I am afraid to answer to hear what
Fox News has told my father today.
JoAnna Brooker is a graduate from the University of Tennessee, where she studied Journalism & English. She is currently a staff director for Sundress Academy for the Arts, & her work has been featured in Menacing Hedge, The Knoxville Mercury, & UT’s Daily Beacon. She can be found on all social media platforms @cupofjoanna, & in her spare time enjoys petting cats & making cheese based meals for her loved ones.