hot wings in poetry

it must be terrible to love the wings at Hooters
but hate the sexual objectification baked on in
doomed to love that one particular hot sauce and
there you are in Boobieroom eating chicken wings
the cleavage and the booty shorts
the obviously tip-faked flirts
all you want is your chicken
all you want is your goddamned chicken
but here you are in your world of hurt
scarf it down and spit back the bones
at least you’re not deluded that
you’re not going home alone