Lunch. Tacos are the only thing

sinning in my belly.
rain dances around me as I walk,
on m66,
past the glowing McDonald's,
by the large KFC,
screaming out for someone to eat there,
most people aren't that hungry,
to the beautiful Taco Bell.
It’s packed, the line is long and stressful,
like a giraffe straining to get a leaf off the top branch of a tree.
I wait in the delicious air.
People all around me are waiting--
the rude conversations,
the smell of too much perfume,
warm tacos pressing out of their wrappers.
When I finally reached the cash register,
the counter guy was as slow as molasses,
his fingers were as dirty as mud,
his face as ugly as Jabba the Hutt.
Suddenly I understand why people get sick here.
I dare not touch him,
he might break into pieces.
He wraps our take-out.
I'm thinking, how gross it is,
to live in this country, how easy
it is to get a job.
I leave alone, the aroma
of Taco Bell still present.
I walk back through the rain
grouping into puddles,
the McDonald’s glowing like a sun,
the lonely KFC.
My hunger destroyed like a sand castle being swept from the beach by the water,
by the cashier,
I slosh home through the puddles, slosh,
and give away my food.