Drive-Thru Homesick

I was in Sweden, craving hash browns from McDonald’s —my favorite.

They didn’t have them. No iced lattes. No oat milk.

We drove away.

And somehow, it made me miss

everything I didn’t realize I missed.

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I miss hash browns

from a yellow and red clown.

Getting hungry

with food already dished,

fruit chopped,

gas tanks filled.

Takeaway from anywhere

Tex-Mex, lunch specials, early birds.

Fancy flip-flops,

chilly sweaters.

Every day

was a pool day.

I miss the weather,

chatting about boring dumb stuff,

and smiling.

“How are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

I know I miss other things,

but they don’t come easily to me.

It’s like something

has taken their place,

someone with buttons for eyes.

Sleeker.

Quieter.

Someone who doesn't eat

hash browns.