Southern Fried Poem by Jefferson Carter

SOUTHERN FRIED




Excuse me, you're standing
on my tongue. I do love
your philtrum, by the way,
how it separates your nose
from your upper lip.


You can't eat a fertilized egg
in Alabama. Preborn chickens
have rights there. Postborn
chickens, however, may be
baked or southern fried.
Food for thought.


Answer this: are you
better off now than you were
thirty seconds ago? I know,
I know, funny as a barrel
of hazardous waste.

But loving you? Like

speed-dating a cobra.