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August 31, 2022

Red Hot Chili Pepper (Donuts)

Carina Solis & Sharon Zhang

Father says the peak of music was the Red Hot Chili Peppers. 

I grow up with my ears cocooned by Scar Tissue & the Zephyr Song. 

But the Red Hot Chili Peppers aren’t so rad anymore. To pay the 

bills on mullets & vintage guitars, they run a food truck—a donut truck,

greased small thing. After the birds flock sunlit, the Red Hot Chili Pepper (Donuts)

settles on Riggs and East Johnson Street. Perfectly goldened O’s. American Rock 

humming in the background. People lined up, their faces sunlit into Boston Creams.

Plenty of Boston Creams, made on site. And, if you are adventurous—like I was

last Saturday—you’ll venture beyond the simple glazed or strawberry frosted. No,

you’ll choose the paramount: the Red Hot Chili Pepper (Donut) The experience.

Freshly fried dough. A thin spread of cherry glaze. A smattering of red chili flakes 

dusted across the deliciousness. A dancing tongue. Tears leaking from squinting eyes. 

A smear of pink staining your cheeks. Hoarse breaths crackling. Worship. Stumbling. 

Burnt joy. A bonfire’s lingering.

Carina Solis is a fifteen-year-old writer living in Georgia. Her work has been recognized or is forthcoming in the Eunoia Review, Wrongdoing Mag, Gone Lawn, and elsewhere. She is an editor at Polyphony Lit, an intern at Young Eager Writers, and a mentee at Ellipsis Writing & the Daphne Review. In her free time, she enjoys baking and binge-watching k-dramas. Find her at carinasolis.carrd.co

 

Sharon Zhang is an Asian-Australian, Melbourne-based poet and author. Her work has been recognized by Anti-Heroin Chic, Antithesis Magazine, and elsewhere. She is a mentee at Ellipsis Writing and an editor at Polyphony Lit. Outside of writing, she enjoys collecting CDs, scrolling endlessly on her phone, and thinking about Hegel a touch more than that which is necessary. She overuses the word “body” when any other noun would work instead. Skin. Limbs. Humanness. Tablecloth.