The Burger King

By S. K. Kelen

Dine at diners, eat at eats -chicken,
ribs and fries melt deep the psyche.

It’s snowing on the Burger King’s crown
He is at play on the highways,
A well fed baby god picking up cars
In the parking lot turning them
On their backs like beetles.
And when the baby’s finished playing
With his food, the corn maidens lay corn at his feet
-to receive his heat-offer themselves
Like so many onion rings

Deep fried on buns with ketchup, lettuce and pickle
They do the fire dance often observed
In a bottle of light beer.
The land is dormant-will serve again
Come Spring-and those grain-fed cattle
Huddled in an ice wind, do they know they
Serve the Burger King?
The giant pretzel highway
Loops in and around, leads to the
Burger King’s glass mouth.
Inside, all’s a sizzle & young kids
Wear Aztec aprons move the chemicals
From vat to vat, the lard
That is the Burger King’s tongue,
And we all eat holy meat and bun.
Driving west, I find the honey of the land.

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