I.
fingers turned to white meat-- the breading
crumbling off on the back seat of
Uncle Rich's yellow Ford focus. grease 
stain through skin-- through paper bag.
at home on  the kitchen counter he 
urged me to dip my feet-- wade 
slowly into the plastic sauce containers--
lips metallic & peeled. i dipped fingers--
licked clean. spoonful & spoonful.  
chicken-nugget kneed we picked each other 
up to dunk. careful with me i'm full
the bees humming vulgar cayenne & vinegar. 
tripping into the salad-- white dress damp 
with mayonnaise. paper 
napkins pleating calla lily. be a careful girl
if you eat. 
II. 
my forehead broke out in a rash
the day after confirmation-- the oils
on my forehead frying under church lights.
i broke the breading off my body in the shower--
removed from knuckles-- bare white chicken
breast underneath. less calories that way.
i usually lie & say i don't like
dressings or sauces. she said i did that too.
salt & pepper under finger nails. 
there were two cruets of honey mustard 
dressing on the table & the bishop told me to
look up at him, which was odd, because
we were sitting in the restaurant booth & not
a church. i refused so he poured them both 
over my head. at least none got in my mouth. 
in the bathroom i washed off my face but
the sink was dressing too. porcelain bowl
brimming honey mustard. give in.