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An Ode to Mrs. E’s Chicken Tenders

 They say the best way to express your deepest emotions is through poetry. So we’ve written a poem encapsulating a Jayhawks’ most emotional weekly experience: chicken tender day at Mrs. E’s.

I walk up to Mrs. E’s

with a growling stomach that I must please.

A line extending out the door

I begin to wonder what’s in store?

What is this line? What could it be for?

Could it be Taco Tuesday? Or maybe pulled pork?

Opening the door, the aroma hits.

But it’s not the usual smell of armpits.

Is this real life? Could it really be?

Chicken tenders,

For the second time this week?

And a single tear rolls down my cheek.

To have these tenders on my plate,

There is no amount of time I will not wait

10, 20 minutes or maybe more

HEY! NO CUTTING THE LINE, YOU FILTHY WHORE!

I get to the front, shaking with glee

As two delicious tenders are handed to me.

Perfectly plump, yet crispy outside

This will be one wild ride.

Golden, crunchy, savory strips

That linger for hours between my lips

With each new bite, I see visions of God

Who, to my surprise, has a rockin’ bod.

With this fried chicken

Any broken heart can be healed,

Even though they might make you

Diarrheal.

I’m only human

But I think I’m in love.

That, or I am an addict

And E’s chicken strips are my drug.

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