Just-A-Burger

Behind the counter of the Just-A-Burger 

where fair is fair and right is right around the counter 

sits You, operator of fry frying vat mechanisms 

at this burger joint. 

I enter wanting only a $.99 burger and nothing else. 

You scowl at me as you realize no one else can 

take my order and you are forced to leave your post 

as the fryer of fries to attend the customer. 

"What do you want?" "A Burger" "Just A Burger?" 

And then I giggle at you because the name 

of the place is Just-A-Burger. 

You don't find me funny. 

Then before I can decide 

your fry fryer beeps and you flee to cajole 

the oil into slowly residing and with delicate care 

you glide on your gloves and 

as if you carried a child, 

the fry fryer warms to the fire in your eyes. 

knobs shift and your back hunches over the shaker. 

You are the mad taker of fry chances 

and your grim stance is 

calling to me but my calling is a quarter pound of ground chuck 

grease which pounds my hunger, grounding 

my slow desire fueling the fire of an all beef patty. 

Yet, your back backs me into the corner 

past the right cash register where I focus 

on the smooth attention you pay to newly 

fried freedom fries & suddenly I am enslaved 

by this paid care and before I can pay 

for my wares I must wait for your return. 

"So, just a burger??" 

"No, I would also like some fries" 

And then, You, fryer of fries at the Just-A-Burger on 290, 

see my change of heart 

and gaze at me slowly as the glaze of new found awe 

fills the fair irises 

where fair is fair and right is right around the counter 

where the customer stands 

taken with the operator 

of fry frying vat mechanisms. 

"That will be $2.14." 

But "$2.14" rings up more like 

"I love you" 

and we stand staring at each other formica stretching between us. 

And as I hand you my five dollar bill 

our hands caress but no longer wanting 

Just a Burger but instead a fryer of fries and a paying customer 

at the Just a Burger 

where fair is fair and right is left of the "order-here" sign 

and my left thumb releases the bill 

into your fry oil calloused hands. 

The ding of the register briefly breaks the spell 

as we register the length of our mutual silence. 

You hand me two dollars and some coins, 

breathlessly say 

"thank you for having more at Just-A-Burger. 

here's your change." 

Sighing heavily and dreading your return 

to the fryer of fries and 

wishing you could care for me as such I whisper, 

"Thanks, but I have all the change I need." 

which rings up a little more like 

"I love you too, Fryer of Fries 

at the Just-A-Burger, right off of 290."