McDonalds Funland Birthday

i want to be settled for.
i don't need to be a first choice
for anything. it's okay 
if i'm not craved or coveted. 
in the end, 
all those immediate yearnings vanish.
like a mcdonalds, 
i will be reliably melancholy
& ready to celebrate it.
paper party hated & sent 
into the wilderness. my childhood 
was thick as frosting.
neighbor kids with their 
paper wrapped hands & french fry tusks.
the plastic blue slide 
intestine twisted. we went down
on our backs. arms crossed
like coffin-bodies. celebrate each
miniature death. swam the ball-pit.
spat out the planet.
gum-balled our way between each other.
i liked to pretend
the mcdonalds was a space ship
& we were all (thankfully)
going to blast off soon. no impending
teenageness. just children
with all our children judgements
& children sadness. did you know
i used to cry over the moon?
reader, i still do. 
if it weren't weird
i would probably still visit
mcdonalds funlands & plea 
for lift off. it's okay 
if you never think of me
past noon-- only wake up 
with an inkling i might 
be only a few tongues away.
keep me in a back pocket.
i can be the backup plan
when all other celebration fails.
turn over the hyper drive lever.
spill the ice cream.
sing the song with the candle halos.
how old?
how old are you now?
how old are you now?

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