Poem of the month: Look, I’m Not Good at Eating Chicken by Fatimah Asghar

Each month the Guardian’s Review section selects a poet or poem to highlight

& yes, my family did raise me right. Yes
they stripped their bones & cracked them clean
open to suck. Would fight over cartilage & knuckle.
Sip the marrow’s nectar from urn. Yes, I watched.
Yes, I’ll teach my children the same. To savor
the sound of their teeth against bone pulling & pulling
always in search of more. But right now I’m eating alone
in a strange city with money in my pocket
no children waiting to be fed or taught. Meat on the bones,
skin in the trash. Joints a trap of bird & muscle
wanting to be chewed. Let me be young & disrespectful.
Let me leave my plate an unfinished slaughter.
Let me spend & eat until I, no one else, says I’m done.

• From If They Come For Us, published by Corsair (£10.99). To order a copy go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £15, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of £1.99.

Fatimah Asghar

The GuardianTramp

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