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?