PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Hot Wings


Friday evening gets me so excited, The time to ask Zhi-ying for my fave wings, The sweet honey sauce on them is gleaming, When I see my hot wings, I’m delighted. I pickup a hot wing, and I bite it. The wonderful taste makes me want to sing. I love the sauce of the chicken’s bathing. I’m craving some more, but I must fight it. I gotta thank Momma for the money, It’s a blessing to eat wings of honey. I love hot wings; they are totally great. I would eat them as my last living meal. Everyday I could eat them to my fill. My love for hot wings will always be real.
©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.