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 The Drive~Thru
Why it happens
I have not one clue,
Yet, we all know the perils of
going to the drive-thru.
A voice rings out
as fast as an auctioneer,
What language they speak
today is usually never really clear.
We give them our order
we speak LOUD and SLOW,
Still our words get lost
we know not where they go.
If we say three
they only hear two,
Then we’re yelling at the box
to get our meaning through.
Maybe it’s a game played
by a devilish fiend,
To see how high our blood pressure
they can send.
JRS © 8-16-01
the"Okie" Poet
All poems copyrighted
ã1997-... Spring Creations
The "Okie" Poet
All Rights Reserved
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