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2020-07-09, poems

Mickey Ds

when you get a little money in the
bank the microwave
stops looking so nice
and you stop cleaning
it because you’re not using
it, you go to mcdonald’s first
thing in the morning, just like
you always wanted to;
wealth is being able to go
every day
zag, the boy at the counter
knows you by name and
his friend, zig, knows you too,
that’s not their real names of course
they’re not real boys
if they were i’d be carlo collodi,
you ever met him? every time
i see ronald mcdonald i think
pinocchio, i think mister geppetto, i
think jackasses, who the hell tries
to lead a puppet boy astray? but hey
i’m here at mcdonald’s, a little bit
of money in the bank, but it ain’t wealth
yet either because i’m at one of the
old mcdonald’s, they still have a plastic
ronald in the restaurant
staring at
all the guests and children, who
the fuck thought this would
sell burgers? they don’t
have these in the nice
mcdonald’s, ronald long since
got kicked out, but i have enough
money in the bank to
buy an extra hashbrown this morning
and still not drop any money
into the
donation tray at the counter, am i
a piece of shit,
maybe, but
like there are infinite
stars in the galaxy and
a fascinating number of salt
crystals in one box of fries,
there are a million
other reasons to
hate me, baby.