Reading The Great Gatsby at McDonalds
I stir ice in my diet coke,
imagine the straw is a cigarette holder,
I’m at a Long Island party
the mood music is Contralto jazz,
French fries come in finger bowls,
a white-flannelled waiter tops up our cocktails.
I read tautly honed lines
from my New York Times-recommended novella
to silky moon-eyed admirers.
Pale kids with bright bracelets,
bump my chair.
Still hungry, I get up to go.
A girl in a grey shirt sweeping
competition tear-offs asks
if I enjoyed my book, what it’s about?
I say: “A man who’s very wealthy.”
“I wish I was,” she replies.
I leave, smiling back at her,
clutching my ticket for Almost Famous.
Outside Foregate Street’s restaurant signs,
reflected in February dark,
look like the green glow
at the end of Daisy’s dock.
From The Twilight Shift (Wild Pressed Books)
