13 Ways of Looking at a Rotisserie Chicken
With (slight) apologies to Wallace Stevens.
I
Among twenty things I could potentially make for dinner
The only thing calling to me
Was the rotisserie chicken
II
I warmed
Like a heat lamp in a display case
In which there are rotisserie chickens
III
Visions of chickens whirled in my mind—specifically ones with crispy, slightly overcooked wings
It is a small part of their tantalizing chicken-ness
IV
A rotisserie chicken and another rotisserie chicken
Are too much.
But a man and a woman and two children and one rotisserie chicken, and a baguette or some rice, and a salad, or maybe some microwave-in-the-bag green beans
Are perfect.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The rotisserie chicken for dinner
Or what’s left of it the next day,
On a bed of greens, for lunch
Making me feel like: Yes! I’m having vegetables and lean proteins! I’m so freaking healthy!
VI
Rotisserie chickens filled the roasting-thingy behind the deli counter
Behind fogged glass
An employee was there,
Crossing, to and fro.
The mood
Lifted after I got her attention and said, “Excuse me, hi, there are no more rotisserie chickens in the case. Will you be putting more out soon?”
And she was like, “Yeah, in about five minutes.”
VII
O harried people of America, one might ask—probably someone French
Why do you worship these golden birds?
Do you not see how the rotisserie chicken
Has a ton of sodium and probably other additives in it
and comes from factory farms?
VIII
I know
And know that my family is probably sick of rotisserie chicken
But I know, too,
That I am exhausted
So shut the hell up.
IX
When the rotisserie chicken was nestled in my cart
It marked the end
Of one of many kinds of suffering
X
At the sight of a rotisserie chicken
Gleaming, steaming, on the cutting board on the dining room table
Even that annoying European
Would eat it. No question.
XI
The rotisserie chicken rode over the roads
In the back of my Subaru
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of a gallon of milk
For another rotisserie chicken
Poor guy. Didn’t he read the part of the poem where I said that two rotisserie chickens are too much?
XII
I am catching up on emails and having a glass of wine at 6:30 pm, instead of cooking.
The rotisserie chicken must be warming in the oven.
XIII
It was waiting in the fridge all afternoon.
The puddle of fat it sat in was congealing
But now, it is glistening and hot
The rotisserie chicken sits
In the cedar-limbs of my heart.
Or something.
All posts on Jane’s Calamity are free and publicly available, but if you like my work, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription.
P.S. If you like grocery-related humor: Quiz: Do you know how to buy groceries?
P.P.S. Pub day for The Society of Shame is just over a month away! Boston area folks: I hope you’ll join me at my launch event at Porter Square Books, Cambridge, on Thursday, April 6 at 7pm. (Rotisserie chickens available at the Star Market next door, if you need one.) For the deets on other events, in Massachusetts, Maine, Connecticut, New York, Chicago and elsewhere, check out my full tour schedule. Thank you!
