French Fries Anxiety

My anxiety is not one of pray and tell,
It is not buck tooth quaky shaky knees
It is not a quarter on sale
or a dog full of fleas

It is however, the rumble and bumble of a dark thunderous night
all force and no humility in sight
It is not the wolves led astray
It does not keep the bees at by
but it is the man who leads the sheep to slaughter
It chucks me, into the fire of rabid beasts

I try to stand up, tall, against the raging tides of white hot teeth and martyr,
I try to keep my head above water
But you see the problem with being a sheep,
is that this wool that sits so neatly on my shoulders,
tears me down with depression
my warm safe coat is depression
There is no recession for my fears,
no dietitian for gears
nor politician for my tears
I am afloat on my own
I am a note on the phone
I am a boat in the sand
I am a noose with a band

Do not lock me away in therapy
for there never is enough apathy
Do not send me to the tower
where the heavens cannot shower
my dry cracked skin with the newly founded pills
This flesh cannot find rejuvenation in you spills
I cannot climb all the hills
you set before me
I cannot be the eyes that see
The light so far off in the distance
to a place that is all resistance

: Do you want fries with that?
Do you want fries with that?

: I’m sorry what?

My voice is a mere squeak in the crowd
I wish I were among the clouds

:I asked if you wanted fries with you meal?

Meal, what’s a meal?
What are these fries you speak of
Do they hail from some foreign land
to ascend some horrid assault upon my tongue
Are they poison to a rat
A fork where I sat?
I am not good with questions; in fact what is a question when my brain does not find an answer in the discord of my brain
I think that may be a paradox, but right now my mind is an ox, it moves ever so heavily, I am not at all at the ready

I shake my head in rapid disposition then say: Yes

: Okay ma’am that’ll be-

I spurt out :I mean no

She replies with a fierce sharp tone: Are you sure?

She’s looking at me like the lady in therapy, I am afraid of Bethany, so I stay stock still, trying to pass off as a log instead of a passenger in this boat
She purses her lips, rattles off the number on the ticket she’s handed me, swaps the money from my hand as if it were a weapon, instead of a utensil for survival

I walk all stiff limbs to the table of the failures,
the epitome of despair, and it is only when my tush hits the cush that the word fries suddenly rings like neon lights a cave,

French Fries are crispy potatoes, deep fried and one of a kind perfection with a burger and coke on a Saturday night at home in bed

Pause, I see the calendar on the wall, it is Saturday, I begin to fall
My bed awaits this is my favorite burger joint…oh I see

Later that night I sit in bed, burger in one hand, a coke sitting on the table
I am wrapped up like a burrito that’s forgotten cheese, spread out and too lazy to find ease
I think about French fries, how I wish they were here
but they are like my courage a missing tier
I miss French Fries, I think they would’ve made this night just a little bit better, oh well

This poem is about: 
My country
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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