HOT MUSTARD

McDonaldsHotMustard

I walked down the way to the neighborhood McDonald’s like I did every day. It wasn’t too far. I was very lucky to live within walking distance of the burger establishment. The day was nice enough. A bit hot, but there was a cool breeze catching in the trees of late summer. It seemed as if the heavens were smiling down upon me.

I walked into the McDonald’s and saw people all around me. Some were smiling as they ingested their reasonably priced burgers but some of them looked less than happy. I walked to the counter where Jim, a nice young man who regularly helped me with my daily transaction, smiled at me and said

“Hey Al, how are you doing today? Welcome to McDonald’s,”

“Thanks, Jim. I’ll just have my usual,”

“A Big Mac combo?”

“Yeah, super-sized,”

“Well, Al, we don’t do super-sized anymore, but I can make it a large for you?”

“Large is fine,” I said, “I just really like saying ‘Super-Sized’,”

Jim took my five dollar bill and exact change and gave me my receipt which I crumpled and put in my pocket.

“Here’s your cup, Al,”

“Thanks, Jim,” I said, snatching the cup from his hand, I went over to the soft drink dispenser and filled my cup with very light ice and 48 ounces of ice cold Coca-Cola. I grabbed a large lid and a straw. I unwrapped half off the straw and then blowing into the straw, shot the other half of the wrapper into the trash. From there, I went back over to the lobby and waited, my arms crossed for my burger and fresh French fries.

I watched a lady and her son gather their food as they called out her order. She got a chicken wrap with a large French fry and her son had gotten a happy meal with chicken nuggets. The woman guided her son to a booth and they began to eat.

A skinny man who had rung up just as I had entered the McDonald’s came up to gather his four Spicy McChicken Sandwiches. I was marveled that such a skinny guy could eat so much food!

Then I heard them call my order out. BIG MAC AND LARGE FRENCH FRY? I went to gather my lunch and said to the lady behind the counter,

“Excuse me, miss? Can I get some hot mustard to dip my French fries in?”

The woman looked at me sadly with a smirk.

“You know, I’m very sorry, but we don’t have hot mustard sauce any longer. They discontinued it,”

“What?” I said, “There must be some sort of mistake. You see, I get hot mustard sauce everyday to dip my fries into. Are you sure you’re not just out?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, sir. We simply don’t have it anymore.”

Her voice sounded slower each second. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears and my hands shaking. A great red rage began to overcome me as the woman behind the counter looked at me, her eyes filled with terror.

“You have to have some back there somewhere?”

“I’m really very sorry, sir. We are all out,”

“You can’t be all out!” I yelled, “You just can’t be!”

“I could get you some barbecue sauce, sir? The French fries are very good in barbecue sauce?”

“I don’t want the barbecue sauce! I want the hot mustard sauce! I come here everyday!”

It was then the anger overtook me. I threw my tray of food behind the counter and screamed ferociously as a coffee pot was shaken off the counter and crashed onto the floor.

“I want my hot mustard!” I yelled again, punching my fist into the Coca-Cola drink machine and knocking over the lids and straws, the salt and pepper and the little packets of ketchup. Some people began heading for the door, as others out on the patio looked in intrigue. I could feel their eyes on me as great globs of sweat began pouring down my face.

“I come here everyday!”

A manager came out from behind the counter, his hands out in front of him as he said to me,

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to need you to calm down. You are being out of line. I’m sure we can solve this in a rational manner or I’m going to have to ask you to leave,”

“ALL I WANT IS MY HOT MUSTARD FOR MY FRENCH FRIES! THAT’S ALL I WANT!”

I felt my hand curl up into a stone fist and saw myself swinging at the manager. Next thing I knew he was out cold, as the rest of the restaurant exited out the door. I began flipping tables, I threw a chair threw the window where there was an ad for a new burger sandwich. I could see the red in my fists. I jumped over the counter and shouted my demands again to them employees. I grabbed a teenaged employee by the red polo and demanded that he find me hot mustard. I threw him down and he crawled out the drive-through window in fear for his life.

“HOT MUSTARD!” I said, “I COME HERE EVERYDAY!” I said, throwing the deep fryer onto the floor as cornered employees screamed in terror. “I DESERVE HOT MUSTARD!” I said. “I NEED HOT MUSTARD!”

I pulled the drawers of burgers out, I swiped the mess off the counter as I lurked closer and closer to the cornered workers.

“It’s not our fault!” they said to me, but I knew better than that. They worked for McDonald’s. They were McDonald’s. They were keeping the hot mustard all for themselves. They looked at me like I was the devil himself, but I knew I was in the right here. The customer is always right. I yelled it at them.

“The customer is always right!” I yelled. I was a hero, standing up for my rights. You can’t just give someone something they love then take it away from them. That’s not fair. I approached them even closer my breaths ugly and harsh now on their faces.

“Please don’t hurt us,” said one brave employee desperately, wearing their McDonald’s employee visor, “Here, here’s a coupon for a free Big Mac combo.”

“Oh, that would be great,” I said, taking the coupon and exiting the McDonald’s. The day really was nice enough. A bit hot, but there was a cool breeze catching in the trees of late summer. Maybe tomorrow I would go back and try the Sweet and Sour sauce.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “IN REALITY”

About these ads

IN REALITY

to a friend

look
i’m a single white dude
living in the middle of america
and sometimes i get overwhelmed

i think you have a pretty
valid reason to get overwhelmed
i mean
you work forty hours a week
at a job
that some weeks eats at people
like a disease
and you still manage to
take care of
your two little girls
(who seem to be everything
to you)
and i think that alone
is pretty fucking amazing

if that wasn’t enough
you are out there seeking love
trying to put the spotlight
on a beating heart
during the shit show
that is dating in your
twenties
(probably dating at all)
and you say you don’t even know
how to love someone
but from everything i’ve ever seen
that seems to be all
that you ever do

life throws a lot
at all of us
and it does it
in a way that is anything
but just
but there is a certain
fairness in the fact that
it doesn’t discriminate
it just comes in
out of nowhere
like a tornado
and picks up your nice cottage home
along with any other riff raff
it gets too close to
and throws it down the
street

what i really want to tell you is
when you said that you
feel like a crazy person
who can’t even manage their life
that couldn’t be further from
the truth

in reality
you are an amazing person
who somehow
finds a way to manage
her crazy life
every damn day

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “THE GREAT WAVE OF KANAGAWA”

NO ONE WANTS TO READ YOUR POETRY, BRO

no one wants to read your poetry, bro
no one wants to hear the premise
of the sci-fi novel you’re working on
nobody has the time to hear about your concept art
no one gives a crap about your mixtape

sorry, bro

there’s a reason that bob dylan
would corner people at parties and force them
to hear his songs

there’s a reason why walt whitman
wrote fake reviews about his poetry for
the newspaper

sometimes you gotta shove this shit
down people’s throats

you gotta be reckless
you gotta set yourself on fire
in public demonstration
just to get an ad listing
in the local paper

flail your arms around
like the wacky wailing arm-flailing
inflateable tube man
outside of car dealerships

no one gives a shit
about your art

so you’d better give them
a good god damn reason to start
giving a shit about you
and the crucial and beautiful things
you have to show and tell them

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “SUNDAY AUGUST 10″

IN THE DIM LIGHT OF DENVER I DREAM

in the dim light of denver i dream
waiting for the light rail train to come
to station and i’ll board and i’ll close
my eyes and there before me she will be laying
naked beneath the blankets
speakers blasting from backpacks
bluegrass street kids tucked outside of
shops that have hung their closed signs
electricity hanging in the air like a
pending snowstorm and i am lost
oh so romantically lost and at home
and the old men and the homeless men
play chess and checkers and dice and streetlight
oh such sugary streetlight i kneel beneath thee
and worship my faceless god and she says to me
nothing

because this is a city in the middle of flatlands
a queen in the center of an empty chessboard
you have to hear the wind meander the clocktower
and sneak through the elitch garden ferris wheel
eclectic bars pushing and shoving each other for attention
country music clashing in the streets with hip hop
as great Buddhist mountains sit still in the west
watching like patient parents
waiting for their kids to grow up
they might have to wait a little longer

but there’s pedicabbers and buses and
bridges and oh my – marijuana!
and when the city fills with fog
you never know if it’s the breath of God
or just another saturday night
between a rock and a hard place
between the electronic agenda
and the folksong symphony
i am lost at home
almost
but for now
i dream in the dim light of denver
waiting for the light rail train

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “LONELINESS IN DENVER”

LONELINESS IN DENVER

i don’t know who you are
but i want to kiss you at union station
i want to fall in love with you in denver
i want to see the red lights of the city
reflected in your eyes
i want to discuss philosophy
and whatever you want to discuss
with you over egg cream sodas and pbrs
at leela’s

i want to dance with you
in a back alley of sixteenth street
away from the mild herds of tourism
and the thousand atms
away from the god forsaken walgreen’s
i want to lay with you in skyline park
i want to smoke a joint
down to the roach with you in
the glass elevators of the tabor center
i want to get lost in your words
and lose my wallet somewhere in the city
anywhere in denver
fuck.
if i lose my whole outfit i’ll still
be glad that i met you

i want to complain about
the city construction with you
i want to wait in the drunken
shifting line of the 2 am sixteenth street
taco bell with you
and eat bean burritos
and regret tacos

i want to share a flask with you
on a bus bench with you
with no intention of ever taking
the bus

i want to die in denver with you
i want to anything in denver with you
i want to
anything in anywhere
with you

i want you to stop hiding
behind street signs and in the
back room of city liquor stores
i want to see you

i don’t know what i want
and it’s unfair of me to think
that you would
i don’t even know you yet

shit i’m drunk
shit this poem
union station
you and me
9 am sharp
oh man
let’s make that noon

whatever works for you

yeah
that sounds good

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “CITY OF BONES”

As you guys may have noticed, I’m switching over to weekly postings. As much as I love posting daily, it’d be unfair of me to myself and to you guys to pretend that I can keep up with the pace. Thanks for reading.

Love,
Brice

CITY OF BONES

i live
in the city of
bones

the city
where the salt of
the earth
and the great heat
of fire
have met
dancing together in
the middle of
america

i don’t know
when i got here
and i don’t know
when i leave
time is hopelessly
against me
but i do know
that this is the
place that i find myself
when the well dries up
and the other cities
just point and laugh
at me

i live
in the city of
bones

i am the
great pharaoh
of the city of
bones

i am
lonely and delicate
flower
sipping water
from the poison
soil
trying to grow
my way into your
american heaven
in the city
of bones

i am lost
and worn down
and soldier
to nonsense
and the answer
to dry echoes

i am vultures
stalking from up
above
and angels claiming
sanctuary
away from the
city of bones

i am hallelujah
of vast, radiant and solo
and eternal sidewalk
and red rock
and an equal right
to death
and to live
but crawling
knees and elbows

i am
the city of
bones
and it is
me
and the ebola
of silence
and the cancer
of the
wind
but still
when the sun hits me
i beam it right back
at it
and some days are tequila
and some days
are bad tequila
and some days
are too dry
and too hot to leave the house
but here i am
king
of the
city of bones

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “DRUNK AT LEELA’S”

DRUNK AT LEELA’S

two girls in leopard print chairs
arguing arguments over pbrs
there’s three guys smoking out front
these couches are older than any of us
the loud anger bang music is soft
beneath the sound of
actual fucking conversation
a plate of bones
tilted ketchup bottle
i can feel denver’s heart pounding
these tables bring together lost souls
for reality meetings
fifteen naked lunches
at 10:30 pm on a tuesday night
michael sells buttons and books
glass pane windows
expose the television of flashlight city
the lights glare as the whiskey roars
and i am happy
at peace
desirous of nothing all at once
listening to nirvana
enter a man in a cloak
enter the song of flashlight city
the invisible doorman
shoos away the nazis
hitler crying in the gutters
his make up running
he just wants a friend
we all just want a friend
leela is mine
she yaps music i’ve never heard before in my ear
some band that’s first album was better
she hugs me warm when the lights of flashlight city are dim
she takes my coat for me
kisses me, a humble peck on my chapped lips
and we dance
we dance like homecoming soldiers make love
like painters paint
like graffiti artists run
and i am tweedle dee tweedle dum couldn’t be happier
running the blazing sun flowers into the arms of a
woman who listens to every word we say

i finish my drink

there is laughter echoing into heaven in this house
i feel justified in this horny asylum of color
where you can come and go as you please
i feel justified
as i lay my innocent head upon leela’s naked breasts
and i can hear her heart beat

a heart that says
“i’m alone in here
but i want to be free
i want to hug strangers
i want to inject life simultaneously into all of my
vains breaching the gates that lead to infinity
in the hyperbolic playground of existence”

that is what leela’s heart says
we match tempos
and set aflame together

i too am a heart
in the hand of denver
rocked to stasis by the world’s axis

leela,
baby,
i want to have your children
fill the photo frames of forever with me
please
at least
a cup of coffee?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “CHICKEN SANDWICH FROM BURGER KING”

CHICKEN SANDWICH FROM BURGER KING

about two months ago
i dreamt that i was eating a chicken sandwich
from burger king
and since that night
i have had increased my intake of chicken
sandwiches from burger king
exponentially

of course
there’s a burger king
on my way home from work
that glowing siren
singing me to shipwreck
right at the tail end of my
ten hour long work
excursions

four days a week
two times a day
i have to drive by that
godless whore of a
burger king
with her majestic
window mural
of a chicken sandwich
shining in the golden light
of halogen heaven

you have to understand
part of me acknowledges that
burger king is a capitalistic
corporate burger-making entity
that rolls obesity down
its assembly lines for insanely
disturbingly low prices
i’ve heard rumors that the
charbroiled taste on their burgers
is less flames dancing on an
all beef patty but more so
a mad scientist emulating the taste
of said smoke
a chemically perfect alternate burger
delivered by a fascist fast food joint
slowly devouring american life
into chunky zombie clones
part of me acknowledges that

but part of me knows that
the chicken sandwich at burger king
is a work of art
worthy of sacrifice to the gods

whoever decided that the masses deserved
to eat their chicken sandwich
on an eight inch long bun
with an insanely correct amount of
mayonnaise
deserves the shiniest fucking gold medal
delivered to their door by aphrodite herself

it is glorious

and now it has snuck its way
into my dreams and i can’t stop thinking
about it and it floats above my head
like a mysterious levitating orb
taunting me as i try to lay me down to
sleep

but you don’t care
you’ve got your own shit
you don’t understand my pain
you don’t understand what i go through
you’ve got your super important problems
and part of me understands and respects that
but don’t you fucking ever claim to know
the pain that i feel
eternally inside of me

this sandwich
this entity
has entered my life
jumped into my soul and it will not let me be
until it eventually kills me
in bloody ecstatic joy
this ebola which is
the chicken sandwich from burger king
with the god damn sesame seeds and all
it speaks to me when the air is silent
it spoons me to sleep each night
this love will kill me

and i know what you’re thinking
this guy is fucking crazy
and what the hell happened to his poetry
but if you were paying attention now you know
my poetry was stolen from me
by this she-devil that is
the chicken sandwich from burger king

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

I TRIED TO SAVE YOU FROM THE RIP TIDE

Wild Coast at Belle-Ile by Claude Monet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but you wouldn’t let me
you assured me that you knew how to walk on water
that you knew what you were doing
that she was worth it

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but you were so damn stubborn
you ran naked into the ocean
arms flailing like some kind of idiot
i watched you disappear into the white foam
i watched you pick up the phone and call her

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but i don’t think you believed there was one
you said to me that even if you got lost at sea
you would emerge on a island of oasis
and you and her would finally be happy

i tried to save you from the rip tide
i told you all the fables i could
cautionary tales and ghost stories
i told you of sirens and shipwrecks
but you were so fucking stupid
exactly the way that i was too
exactly the way you wanted to be

i tried to save you from the rip tide
i told you you would be floating there
when out of nowhere something would grab your leg
and you’d looked out towards the shore
but there would be no shore to see
i tried to warn you but you had to find out for yourself
and now here we are
flotsam and jetsam
two idiots lost forever in this rip tide
among the shrapnel of the titanic
and its desperate false love stories

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014