It became absurd to think
That I could order up anything
Of true substance or taste
That was prepared and anticipated
Then delivered
With a mechanical and rehearsed pleasantness
By a well meaning adolescent
In a matter of minutes
Or even the most sincere preacher
Of positive thought
And optimistic promises

Good food is like God
It takes time
And though it is sometimes simple
It is never easy
And when it’s finally ready
And laid out before you like a feast
You smile and laugh
And stretch out for hours
Toasting this and that
And marveling at the artistry
And the mystery of the gift
Of having ones desire met
With such satisfaction

Still there are those days
When an unbearable hunger
Meets with the tyranny of time
And I forget the feast
Or don’t have time to wait
And worst of all become convinced
That a great injustice has been done to me
And I simply must be satiated

At those times you can find me
On the road side
Just a few blocks passed McDonalds
My fat faced reflection haunting me
In the memory of the chromed counter
That served me this death

There I sit
Dipping golden French fries
In ketchup
That bleeds from the golden arches of promise
Upon my shirt
And I weep
Wishing I’d have waited
For the feast

© 2007 Tad Monroe. This poem may not be reprinted without permission from the author.

Tad Monroe
a portly pastor poet in Tacoma, Washington
co-founder and director of City of Destiny Faith and Film series
takes comfort in the fact that The Dude abides...
12 year old scotch or PBR, both acceptable and enjoyable