1am McDonalds

At the highway rest stop McDonalds
A bit buzzed
Four or five beers
Nothing too major
But I have the munchies

I order the Big Mac Meal
It costs more then eight dollars
Because after midnight
You can only get the largest sized meals
The most expensive ones

There’s a man or two in the dining area 
Using the free Wifi
And there’s a homeless man in a booth hunched over, sleeping
And there’s an employee on break, sipping coffee
Looking tired
Like his human spirit’s running on empty

I sit with them in the dining area
I smell cheap cleaning products
The blue spray they clean the tables with
Maybe some ammonia

I notice that the right side of my brain is still numb
Feels asleep
It’s been like this for the past two weeks
It came from an intense hangover
But never went away 
I’m worried
That it never will

I eat my Big Mac
And all the fries
And I fill my large cup with Dr. Pepper

I take too big of a sip of the Dr. Pepper
I have to let some run back down the straw
Tainting the soda with backwash

I look around me, the sad souls in the booths
And I, too, feel tainted by backwash
The backwash
Of the American Dream

Or maybe I’m trying too hard
To find a metaphor here

Maybe this poem
Is merely a means of justifying 
My spending nine dollars
For a Big Mac “value” meal

It is something I know I will regret
When I’m sober
And I’m feeling less organic
From the fake food


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