Chicken Fried

When I was a pup
My daddy took me to the circus
To give the the old “birds and bees” talk
About the differences
In women’s pussies

It was a couple months after mom passed
And I relished the chance of having some father & son bonding time
As he was often gone
Banging strange and blowing lines
As one does when suddenly back on the market

I asked dad if I could have some funnel cake
“Not for 5 dollars,” he said
But I offered to throw in my monthly allowance of three bucks and he shrugged his shoulders and said “Go on then”

A bunch of creepy ass clowns sauntered around the circus and dad gave them the mean eye
We found a bench and sat down

Dad said, “Son, you gonna find there are lots of women out there, and they all different,

First off, if she got a tramp stamp, you gotta wonder what else she got? You understand?”

I nodded Yes even though I didn’t.

“Second thing is... don’t be too heavy romancing a girl out the gate, cause she will come to expect that shit and it’s unrealistic.”

I nodded again

“Last thing is... Listen to a bitch when she taking a piss.
Does it sound like she’s frying up chicken?
That’s how you know she’s got a good pussy.
Marry her! That’s why I married your mom”

In that moment I never felt closer to my dad. We had never had a conversation this candid. I felt like I was becoming a man. But the moment wouldn’t last forever. I tried to hug him. He slapped the back of my head and said “don’t be a faggot”

My eyes welled up. He said, “come on... let’s see about a bearded lady”

We played carnival games, checked out the freak show, and watched acrobats soar through the air. I couldn’t help but think that was us up there. Barely hanging on. Walking our own tightrope... of complex emotions.

Now, every time I fry up chicken, I think of the circus
And the clowns
And the funnel cake
And the acrobats
And the tightrope
And my father
And the mystery
Of youth