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the distance between 32nd st slightly north of thomas on the east side of the street/and the mcdonald’s slightly south of indian school on the west side of 32nd st/is exactly one mile

after you walk across 32nd st and head north/you will pass an apartment complex that touts its “sparkling pool” but beware/for another sign that says “newly renovated” has been up for over a year

you will walk past what once was a church and what now seems to purport to be/a sanctuary for people who are bent but not broken

and past the southbound bus stop at clarendon/you will approach another apartment complex/one that once had a “now leasing” banner with a number to call/but the banner is gone and since i once lived there it amuses me to think/that a resident driven to enragement by inattention to such issues as pest control and mold management has torn down the banner

and walking past that artifact of pestiferous memory you now approach the fabled golden arches

and it’s pleasantly slightly warm being early/and your hunger has nicely gestated/and you feel slightly druglessly buzzed

melllow with three ells

with a mild case of the munchies

I Fight My Mental Illness At McDonald’s

I need to at least break even/With my mental morning sickness/At this McDonald’s/Where I am finishing up a too-big meal/That cost me $7.00 and untold mental-health points/Because fast food is the last thing I need/With my diabetes/obesity.

But my imaginary Rev Tevye/sang his signature “Tradition” siren song of (with my altered lyrics) caloric seduction/And here I was/setting forth on yet another dietary setback.

Worse, I now had a Defcon 3 need to use the bathroom/And home was too far to non-explosively walk/And my mental illness, stemming from early childhood, made me perversively averse/To away-from-home bathroom activity…

With a wrench of effort I asked the counter lady/To unlock the bathroom/To which she told me it was unlocked but very dirty/And she was waiting for “the maintenance guy.”

“Emergency,” I said with gritted teeth.

There was a pool of water on the floor.

I took my pants and rolled the bottom cuffs.

My legs were now like squeezed accordions.

I minimally did what needed done:

Five lines of iambs in pentameter./(Make that six.)

It was not TOTAL victory against my mental illness/Since I felt like a sleazy thief as I slunk out/Of the ever-abiding Home of the Golden Arches/And not a healthy, fully-functional Human Being who wishes no one harm, ever,/But it was baby steps towards the truest of Homes/Which is my beloved Valley of the Sun/Unconfined by the walls of my apartment.

If you do not understand, count yourself lucky, my friend/That you are u afflicted/By this pernicious disorder. Or, to warp and twist the Bible once again:

Whither thou goest, I wish I could go.