One eating a lot of wings

You’re determined
to be good at something
in your life, anything —

your mouth ringed
in sauce, you tear
the chicken meat

from yet another wing,
long past savoring
the vinegar and heat

of sauce. You’ve eaten
dozens now, you’ve kept
faith, your unshaken

belief that you can be
the champion, hold,
if nothing else, this

one small dubious 
honor, to be at last
the champion of wings.