I want my mom to always be here to ask a
hundred times, "what do you want to eat?"

at the McDonalds drive thru, cigarette in
her mouth, refusing to complete the
order and file obediently to window #2.

She is always sure I must want something,
would like at least a burger, at least a drink,
and that I'll want some food once I smell it.

"Just get me a value fry,"
I always say in the end.

And after "a value fry!" has been
shouted at our poor order-taker,

her big silver car stops holding back
the impatient automobile parade

and pulls on up.