13 Ways of Looking at a Rotisserie Chicken

An ode to one of my favorite things -- and possibly one of yours

With (slight) apologies to Wallace Stevens.

I

Among twenty things I could potentially make for dinner

The only thing calling to me

Was the rotisserie chicken 

II

I warmed

Like a heat lamp in a display case

In which there are rotisserie chickens

III

Visions of chickens whirled in my mind—specifically ones with crispy, slightly overcooked wings

It is a small part of their tantalizing chicken-ness

IV

A rotisserie chicken and another rotisserie chicken 

Are too much.

But a man and a woman and two children and one rotisserie chicken, and a baguette or some rice, and a salad, or maybe some microwave-in-the-bag green beans

Are perfect.

V

I do not know which to prefer,   

The rotisserie chicken for dinner  

Or what’s left of it the next day,

On a bed of greens, for lunch

Making me feel like: Yes! I’m having vegetables and lean proteins! I’m so freaking healthy!

VI

Rotisserie chickens filled the roasting-thingy behind the deli counter   

Behind fogged glass

An employee was there,

Crossing, to and fro.   

The mood

Lifted after I got her attention and said, “Excuse me, hi, there are no more rotisserie chickens in the case. Will you be putting more out soon?”

And she was like, “Yeah, in about five minutes.”

VII

O harried people of America, one might ask—probably someone French

Why do you worship these golden birds?

Do you not see how the rotisserie chicken

Has a ton of sodium and probably other additives in it

and comes from factory farms?   

VIII

I know

And know that my family is probably sick of rotisserie chicken

But I know, too,   

That I am exhausted

So shut the hell up.

IX

When the rotisserie chicken was nestled in my cart  

It marked the end

Of one of many kinds of suffering

X

At the sight of a rotisserie chicken 

Gleaming, steaming, on the cutting board on the dining room table

Even that annoying European

Would eat it. No question.

XI

The rotisserie chicken rode over the roads

In the back of my Subaru

Once, a fear pierced him,   

In that he mistook   

The shadow of a gallon of milk

For another rotisserie chicken  

Poor guy. Didn’t he read the part of the poem where I said that two rotisserie chickens are too much?

XII

I am catching up on emails and having a glass of wine at 6:30 pm, instead of cooking.

The rotisserie chicken must be warming in the oven.  

XIII

It was waiting in the fridge all afternoon.   

The puddle of fat it sat in was congealing 

But now, it is glistening and hot   

The rotisserie chicken sits 

In the cedar-limbs of my heart.

Or something.

All posts on Jane’s Calamity are free and publicly available, but if you like my work, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription.

P.S. If you like grocery-related humor: Quiz: Do you know how to buy groceries?

P.P.S. Pub day for The Society of Shame is just over a month away! Boston area folks: I hope you’ll join me at my launch event at Porter Square Books, Cambridge, on Thursday, April 6 at 7pm. (Rotisserie chickens available at the Star Market next door, if you need one.) For the deets on other events, in Massachusetts, Maine, Connecticut, New York, Chicago and elsewhere, check out my full tour schedule. Thank you!