My Memories of Fried Chicken
Memories of my mother and grandmother
and there fried chicken…
First was my grandmother killing
the chicken, with a broom stick and bare
hands (won’t go into details, to gross)…?
As the chicken flopped around the ground
for awhile bleeding out my grandmother
would get out the gas burner and prepare
the boiling water, then the chicken would
take a nice hot bath, so the feathers
would come out easier…
I watched my grandmother plucking
its feathers then searing of the pen feathers…
One thing I didn’t like was the smell
of the wet feathers and the seared pen
feathers, awful…
After all the prep came out the cast
iron skillet, Cisco, the floured, salt
and peppered chicken…
Time seemed so slow when you
could smell the chicken cooking, but you
knew dinner wasn’t far off, for by the
time dad came home from work, washed
up dinner was on the table…
The deliciously fried chicken, side
of vegetables and the mashed potatoes
with pan drippings gravy,
Oh, soooooooo goooooood.
I am sure making myself hungry…
©2012
Copyright © Sandra Hoban | Year Posted 2012
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