'You Can'T Write A Poem About Mcdonald's' Poem by Ronald Wallace

'You Can'T Write A Poem About Mcdonald's'

Rating: 5.0


Noon. Hunger the only thing
singing in my belly.
I walk through the blossoming cherry trees
on the library mall,
past the young couples coupling,
by the crazy fanatic
screaming doom and salvation
at a sensation-hungry crowd,
to the Lake Street McDonald's.
It is crowded, the lines long and sluggish.
I wait in the greasy air.
All around me people are eating—
the sizzle of conversation,
the salty odor of sweat,
the warm flesh pressing out of
hip huggers and halter tops.
When I finally reach the cash register,
the counter girl is crisp as a pickle,
her fingers thin as french fries,
her face brown as a bun.
Suddenly I understand cannibalism.
As I reach for her,
she breaks into pieces
wrapped neat and packaged for take-out.
I'm thinking, how amazing it is
to live in this country, how easy
it is to be filled.
We leave together, her warm aroma
close at my side.
I walk back through the cherry trees
blossoming up into pies,
the young couples frying in
the hot, oily sun,
the crowd eating up the fanatic,
singing, my ear, eye, and tongue
fat with the wonder
of this hungry world.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
bobby bobby 28 September 2023

beautiful

0 0 Reply

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1 1 Reply
bobby 20 April 2021

horrible god oh my

3 3 Reply
zachary 08 December 2020

great poem. i had to read it a couple times for it to make sense but eventually i saw the meaning

3 3 Reply
Ronald Wallace

Ronald Wallace

Cedar Rapids, Iowa / United States
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