Gas Station Chicken
By CL Bledsoe
When we were old enough to be trusted
with vehicles and able to finagle gas money,
we’d drive to the Conoco Fast Lane
at the Fair Oaks crossroads for a box of fried
chicken that tasted of crunchy pepper, warm rolls,
crispy potato wedges. It was worth the haul
to get out of town, and teenage boys will eat
anything. There was an Exxon in Colt that sold meat
on a stick in an attempt at exoticism that tasted
like squirrel. The BP on 64 had a cheeseburger
if you were desperate. We had a buddy
who’d try to romance a woman who worked there
in an attempt to get chicken strips. Right in town,
at the Circle N Exxon Mike’s mom ran, they had
chicken gizzards you wouldn’t believe. All the cops
bought them, that’s why Mike never got tickets.