The Tease Of Mickie D's Poem by Jessica Morrris

Oh you glittering, golden arches
you’re calling, calling my name.
I sit in neutral anticipation,
waiting for my number six with mayo.
Caffeine, sugar, two creams please!
I’m lovin’ it.
You’re a hefty disease, an insatiable seed,
a degenerate decee of decrepacy.
Planted stout on my tastebuds
like a heckling hound plumped on bulky business.
Another capitalist casualty,
my own personal economic bailout plan.
The two tawdry meals I eat a day
served up for six sloppy dollars.
I know the cashiers by name.
Creepster Curtis salivates that smile,
fingers the folds of the bag slowly,
handing a lingering glance down to the short skirt sliding up my seat.
You marinate the passenger seat with impatience.
The big, blubbering schoolbus barrels out to bring the schoolboys home.
You percolate and trickle,
leak, spew, and seep.
Slump in, smashing any dinner plans it seems.
A fleshy feast won over by the fever of smutty convention.
Another meal behind the wheel of quick, easy, convenience.