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.