Self-Portrait as Combination Taco Bell / Pizza Hut / KFC

the unholy trinity of suburban late-night salvation
barring seemingly endless options of worship

bean burrito breadsticks and mashed potatoes
or a soft taco pan pizza and a buttered biscuit

an unimaginable combination of food flavors
for people not ready to go home to their parents

and yet none of the options feel quite right
so maybe I should call it Self-Portrait as idling

in a drive-thru with your friends crammed
across the sunken bench seats avoiding

the glow of the check engine light with black tape
pressed with a precision unseen anywhere else

in their lives as a fractured voice says don’t worry
take your time and order whenever you’re ready

from behind a menu backlit like the window
inside of a confessional booth as the hands

of the driver open up like a collection basket
for the wadded-up bills and loose change

that slowly stack up as the years go by
and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be

in this analogy but I know about masking
warning signs and hearing out of tune

voices scream WE’RE THE KIDS WHO FEEL
LIKE DEAD ENDS so instead I’ll call it Self-

Portrait as From Under the Cork Tree
or maybe even Self-Portrait as whatever

album people listen to when they love
their friends and still want to feel connected

to the grass walls of a teenage wasteland
that they can’t help but run away from

Copyright © 2024 by Aaron Tyler Hand. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 22, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.

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“I love using poetry to capture the malaise of growing up in the suburbs. When you spend your life in a place that feels defined by its monotony, it’s hard to find a sense of personal identity that isn’t mass produced. In order to feel like you have any control over your life, you have to find the small rebellions that lead to a sense of belonging. That aimlessness and escapism is what I tried to capture in this poem.”
—Aaron Tyler Hand