Last BBQ with Mom

 

The scent of barbecued meat smouldering around: it's time to wane off the skin; a perfect medium-rare, glistening chicken whispers,

'Your mom called you. Is your number busy?

Contact her asap.'

Let me shred your skin piece by piece and gulp it down: the bare bones, the grilled breast and the little ignored piece that protests at the tip of your tongue.

I don't want you to feel you're an outcast protein like she made you feel once. Forget the yolk fight and casserole shenanigans.

And leave mama. She is busy enjoying a circus in the clouds. I never knew mama loves watching clowns wear black tuxedos and carry guns to fight hooligans.

_____

Fizza Abbas is a freelance content writer based in Karachi, Pakistan. She loves poetry and music. Her work has been published on a few platforms including Poetry Village and Poetry Pacific. She is on Twitter @Fizzawrites