My brother asks me to bring home mozzarella sticks
and I smile, even if I’m annoyed
that he waited until 7:58
when I clock out
at 8:00. But I drop the sticks
into the boiling grease,
stare down at them as they
transform.
I think I’m probably losing my mind
at this point, comparing
myself to mozzarella sticks,
but how can I not
when they are submerged
in burn, transforming,
when Sarah said
I’m going to hell?