May I Take Your Order?

​“May I take your order?”

Beef crumbled in the taco
shipped from south of the border.

“Biggie size the fries,”

“What do you want to drink with that?”

Outside the Waco compound
guns held waiting for rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

Cars pull into the drive thru
around the block cops respond to drive by
the fries are hot, covered in salt.

Across the street, at his ex-girlfriends house
just out of the pen, a guy gets re-arrested for assault.

The line is filling up around the burger shack
there is a man in the bathroom shooting up smack.
The manager grabs the Narcan, this happens every day
a schizophrenic drinks endless coffees
talking to himself, praying the voices away.

The computer system goes down, ransomware attack
the burger orders can’t be placed, horns honking
people lose patience, composure and grace
blunt smoke is wafting out the back of a Cadillac,
from the way that its rocking, people inside bonking.
One honked horn too many as tensions escalate
a newsflash on the cellphone says the burger lettuce
is doused in glyphosate. “Let us eat, let us feast,”
people start to scream. Visions of special sauce
(Catalina mixed with ranch) explode in a wet dream.

Without cash no one can pay the bill at the window
civil society erodes because of one broken gizmo.
Outside the dumpster smells like chicken grease
and an old racoon nibbles on cold buffalo wings
the fry cook sneaks outside, takes a few hits from a vape
dreaming of another life, from fast food he must escape.

The chaos of the world is only one gunked up burger away
as the golden arches collapse and fall, true colors on display.

The chaos of the world is only one missing chicken nugget.
How to restore the order, once taken, to fix the hole and plug it?