Bourbon Chicken?

Oh, Bourbon Chicken
Where did you come from, and where are you going?
Cradled in styrofoam, under a flourescent sky
A perfect mystery,
You are nothing:
Not salty, sweet, spicy, or sour
You are somehow all of them.
I shouldn’t love you, but I do

Like this terminal
Called ‘F’
In a city
Called ‘Philly’

Here we sit, stuffing our faces
Wishing we were somewhere else
Touching those places
By cellular magic

The happy couple
In the middle
Sitting across from each other
Talking loud into two phones

That woman over there
Looks like the Drew Carey lady
You know, the one with all that makeup
I wonder if anyone else things so, or says so

Mr. Black Socks and Running Shoes
Is sitting in a cone of light
It illuminates the worn gold leaf on his thick Bible
And now a little twang into his old flip phone

The Leaner
Perches over his tray
Deftly talking and eating at the same time
Not missing a beat

Camera Clutcher
Is eating “here”
But out of a “to go” container
He’s going somewhere

Is that college kid
Really leaning against a pillar like that
Setting her hand on jutted hip
Like some bad movie?

Then, finally, there is that familiar ring
But my phone just stares back, blankly
Someone else
has gotten their reprieve

The world is such an interesting place
Which is hard to see,
Because the world is everywhere
You gotta get out of it to get into it.