day FOUR HUNDRED and NINETY TWO

Fast Food

I see the kid laying tangled in his bicycle
outside the McDonald’s in San Diego. It’s as if
my brain was mechanically separated and pressed
into a splotch of an exit wound right then. I’d
panic when mom took us for dinner and for about a year,
made incredible scenes, with full, crazed tantrums
to stop us from staying, always insisted
on the drive-thru, and when
we did eat there because my sister
wanted to ride Grimace, I’d wolf down everything
and memorize escape routes, my heart
pounding in my ears, little feet pacing the rubber floor,
filthy with pollen and splatters.

--Bob Pajich