Fast Food by Thomas Park at

Fast Food

Fast Food

written by: Thomas Park



I bought my first car myself
The summer before spent flipping burgers
Pushing grease from the metal, fat
Dancing like a Cretan bull
Mornings came quickly, hardly a pause
The biscuit man, already there
Was covered in a white powder by 5 am
Frame emitting plumes of flour

From open to close, the drive-through voices
Rendered metallic staccato by microphone
Clattered soundwaves off and about tile
A line would form, and food was served
Semi-palatable, the mouth and mind forget
Waist and pocketbook did not

A dozen frozen beef patties
Stuck on wax paper– pushed hard, off
they came, and onto the grill
Rows and rows of pale green type
Mutely but relentlessly conducting
The rapid motion, heated preparations
The seeming never-ending cycle of cheap labor

Afterwards, the day grown mellow
Sapped of light, rush hour ending
Walked a mile home beside the road
On quickly cooling grass, occasional breeze
The bull was dead, the feast concluded
Drippings dried on cotton, denim
Washed away by streams of water, it was all
Only in one day, one very long day

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