Tears and poetry as Wollongong prepares for the last days of Chicko's

While it's too soon to declare this a period of national mourning, those who work nearby are realising how much they have to lose once their usual lunch spot is razed for apartments.

And Chicko's had better prepare for a huge week before its last day on March 10, as the no-frills takeaway's biggest followers all turn up for one last fried thigh.

As word spread among the faithful, Zac Philippa and his workmates organised a large farewell card for the Chicko's staff.

And amid the cascade of comments on social media ranging from "lunch next week?" to various teary emojis, there came the spark for the spur-of-the-moment poet inside Zac Philippa to burst out.

He and his workmates at Burelli St engineering consultancy Stantec are consoling each other in numbers, coming together in hard times because that's what Aussies do.

And it only took a few quick phone calls for Mr Philippa to assemble a fair sized group to stand up and be counted as men who will be reduced to tears, inconsolable when their favourite schnitzel store cleans out its grease trap for the last time.

OK, that might not be quite true about the tears but the poetry is for real, with apologies to Kat Stratford in 10 Things I Hate About You.

Heartbreak does crazy things to a person, and for Albion Park chicken enthusiast Mr Philippa, the fact his lunch run will now involve a drive to Chicko's at Figtree rather than a 200m walk round the corner, prompted this:

I hate the way you are so far, and I now have to drive

I hate the line up in the heat

I hate that you so thrive

I hate your massive chicken meals, and the way it's not a crime

I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you taste so good, and now I want to cry

I hate that others take so long. I hate that they can't fry.

I hate it that you're not around, and the fact I can't call.

But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close.

Not even a little bit, not at all.

His heart in pieces, Zac tries to hate the chicken shop but is already planning how he'll get back there. Stages of grieving.

If this is the pain Mr Philippa and his workmates are feeling, we can only imagine what's happening inside those who have so far managed to keep it hidden.

Picture the scene when they all turn up at Chicko's next week for one last hurrah, or two or three.

Schnitzel burger? Chilli salt chips? Maybe a seafood salad? Probably not the salad.

Mr Philippa estimates there are 20-30 Chicko's regulars at his work - "mostly the boys" - and he's sent out an invitation for a group lunch to say goodbye.

He won't be the only one with similar thoughts, and Chicko's on Crown St had better prepare to go out not with a whimper, but with a bang.