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Durin' my nearly four-score years I've had many a grand repast,
But there's one delicacy that will never, ever be surpassed!
There ain't nothin' like a huge helpin' of luscious fried chicken!
Ah, just thinkin' about it makes my pulse begin to quicken!

Mom was an expert at preparin' a bird for the old iron fryin' pan.
The hapless fowl was beheaded and plucked in the shortest span,
Cut up, seasoned and fried before you could count to ten,
Leavin' the old rooster crowin' in bewilderment sans one hen!

The preacher made his periodic visits for dinner at our house.
Mom's admonition to us kids beforehand always made me grouse.
Sayin', "Let the preacher help himself to the choicest parts!"
So we kids usually ended up with the necks, gizzards and hearts!

If I was asked to plan a dinner menu, here's what it would be:
Heaps of fried chicken, mashed pertaters, gravy and iced tea,
Sourdough biscuits, garden fresh carrots and sweet spring peas,
And for dessert a huge slab of cherry pie ala mode, if you please!

Nowadays the Colonel touts chicken from San Diego to Nantucket,
With all the fixin's in a box, bag or a handy two-gallon bucket,
Spicy or original and fried in lots of grease to a crispy, golden brown,
But I prefer my spouse's southern fried 'cause it's the best in town!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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