Poetry

Spooktown, 28 (302.)

How many sandwiches has it been?
Can one measure their life in sandwiches?
This week, it’s been at least five,
and it’s only Wednesday.
Can’t think of breakfast?
Sandwich.
No time for cooking?
Sandwich.
Not that I dislike sandwiches, it’s just
there have been so many lately.
Gotta expand my culinary horizons.
Like, cook some fresh salmon –
forget any filets o’ fish.
Sorry to the great American clown,
the one we truly love,
the giver of fries and hot coffees,
lawsuits and a yellow jumpsuit,
wait a fuckin’ minute,
didn’t this all start with sandwiches?
Well, yeah, but I mentioned the filet o’ fish
and it got me reminiscing on old McDonald.
Better than our current political clown,
and better than that other Ronald
from our dark history.
And old McDonald kills motherfuckers
with salt and a smile.
Yeah … still better, I think,
than some of our presidents.
Maybe I’m just delusional.
Fuck fast food, let’s do away with it
if we can.
It’s about damn time
we set up some sweet community gardens.
Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

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