Saturday, May 12, 2007

"You Can't Write a Poem About McDonald's"

Ronald Wallace (b. 1945)

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.


Anonymous said...

huh thats sorta cool i guess

Anonymous said...

a very american poem and its very smart.

Anonymous said...


Anonymous said...

I'm supposed to write an outrageous poem like this one for language arts. How am I supposed to top something like that?

Unknown said...

I have to wright a poem like that for my english class (like zomg) and I have no clue how to be as exceptional as you!!! I know you get that prolly a lots but hey its a good poem!!

Anonymous said...

its cool