I praise the breaded chicken in honor of my mother,
Who slaved over the milk based gravy
Careful not to let it boil—though never sure why
Because it boiled once put in the oven,
Who careful placed the chicken in the pan,
Poured the gravy over the meat,
Blanketed it with swiss cheese,
Sprinkled it with bread crumbs,
And slid the whole mess into the oven to bake.

While the chicken sizzled in its goop,
The family celebrated in its unique and grandiose way,
For Mom only makes the chicken for special occasions.
The food covered the house with a smell
Of childhood my sister and I have tried to replicate
With marginal success—her for her own family
And me for my friends.