Maybe it Is only Me,
Drive-thru Strife is What I see.
Drinks or Food or Banking Lane,
actions Seem to be the Same.
Minute that You get in Line,
manners Starting to Decline.
Inch Worm crawl Could not be Bleaker,
getting To the Order Speaker.
Garbled voice That talks to You,
volume High or Barely Spew.
Double lanes that Merge to One,
Danger Zone has just Begun.
Stares to Glares to Knifing Eyes,
take the Bait is Quite Unwise.
Middle Finger might Salute,
just be Kind and Resolute.
“Fast” is Not the Word I’d Use,
get my Stuff and then Cut Loose.
When in Line my Only Thought,
Drive on Thru and Not get Shot.