I spatchcock my bird,
lay it flat
in the blistering 
cast iron skillet
where it
sizzles and pops,
fat rendering
before the olive oil
and I tuck
the rosemary
under the skin
so it won’t scorch,
go wait while I watch
the fireflies
and sunset
out on the 
front porch.
M. Zane McClellan
Copyright © 2017
All rights reserved

* Inspired by Bob Okaji’s personal reading of his poem,
Roast Chicken.