Subscribe: by Email | in Reader

Fast Food -- Richard Thompson

(Poem #177)Fast Food
 Big mac, small mac, burger and fries
 Shove 'em in boxes all the same size
 Easy on the mustard, heavy on the sauce
 Double for the fat boy, eats like a horse.
 Fry them patties and send 'em right through
 Microwave oven going to fry me too
 Can't lose my job by getting in a rage
 Got to get my hands on that minimum wage.

 Shove it in their faces, give 'em what they want
 Got to make it fast, it's a Fast Food Restaurant.

 Shake's full of plastic, meat's full of worms
 Everything's zapped so you won't get germs
 Water down the ketchup, easier to pour on
 Pictures on the register in case you're a moron.
 Keep your uniform clean, don't talk back
 Blood down your shirt going to get you the sack
 Sugar, grease, fats and starches
 Fine to dine at the golden arches.

 Shove it in their faces, give 'em what they want
 Got to make it fast, it's a Fast Food Restaurant.

 Baby thrown up, booth number 9
 Wash it down, hose it down, happens all the time
 Cigarettes in the coffee, contact lens in the tea
 I'd rather feed pigs than humanity.

 Shove it in their faces, give 'em what they want
 Got to make it fast, it's a Fast Food Restaurant.
-- Richard Thompson

Love Like Salt -- Lisel Mueller

(Poem #176)Love Like Salt
 It lies in our hands in crystals
 too intricate to decipher
 
 It goes into the skillet
 without being given a second thought
 
 It spills on the floor so fine
 we step all over it
 
 We carry a pinch behind each eyeball
 
 It breaks out on our foreheads
 
 We store it inside our bodies
 in secret wineskins
 
 At supper, we pass it around the table
 talking of holidays and the sea.
-- Lisel Mueller

Headlines -- Robert Phillips

(Poem #175)Headlines
 War Dims Hope for Peace.
 Plane Too Close to Ground, Crash Probe Told.
 Clinton Wins Budget; More Lies Ahead.
 
 Miners Refuse to Work after Death.
 Include Your Children When Baking Cookies. 
 War Dims Hope for Peace.
 
 Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Experts Say
 Prostitutes Appeal to Pope.
 Clinton Wins Budget; More Lies Ahead.
 
 Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half. 
 Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide.
 War Dims Hope for Peace.
 
 Stolen Painting Found by Tree.
 Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over.
 Clinton Wins Budget; More Lies Ahead.
 
 Iraqi Head Seeks Arms.
 Police Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers. 
 War Dims Hope for Peace.
 Clinton Wins Budget; More Lies Ahead
-- Robert Phillips

Madeira, M'Dear -- Michael Flanders

(Poem #174)Madeira, M'Dear
 She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice
 She was fair, she was sweet seventeen
 He was old, he was vile, and no stranger to vice
 He was base, he was bad, he was mean
 He had slyly inveigled her up to his flat
 To view his collection of stamps
 And he said as he hastened to put out the cat
 The wine, his cigar and the lamps

 "Have some madeira, m'dear
 You really have nothing to fear
 I'm not trying to tempt you, that wouldn't be right
 You shouldn't drink spirits at this time of night
 Have some madeira, m'dear
 It's very much nicer than beer
 I don't care for sherry, one cannot drink stout
 And port is a wine I can well do without
 It's simply a case of 'chacun à son goût'
 Have some madeira, m'dear"

 Unaware of the wiles of the snake in the grass
 And the fate of the maiden who topes
 She lowered her standards by raising her glass
 Her courage, her eyes and his hopes
 She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did
 He quietly refilled it again
 And he said as he secretly carved one more notch
 On the butt of his gold-handled cane

 "Have some madeira, m'dear,
 I've got a small cask of it here
 And once it's been opened, you know it won't keep
 Do finish it up, it will help you to sleep
 Have some madeira, m'dear,
 It's really an excellent year
 Now if it were gin, you'd be wrong to say yes
 The evil gin does would be hard to assess
 (Besides it's inclined to affect me prowess)
 Have some madeira, m'dear"

 Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said
 With her antepenultimate breath
 "Oh my child, should you look on the wine that is red
 Be prepared for a fate worse than death!"
 She let go her glass with a shrill little cry
 Crash! tinkle! it fell to the floor
 When he asked, "What in Heaven?" she made no reply
 Up her mind, and a dash for the door

 "Have some madeira, m'dear",
 Rang out down the hall loud and clear
 A tremulous cry that was filled with despair
 As she fought to take breath in the cool midnight air
 "Have some madeira, m'dear"
 The words seemed to ring in her ear
 Until the next morning, she woke up in bed
 With a smile on her lips and an ache in her head
 And a beard in her ear 'ole that tickled and said
 "Have some madeira, m'dear"
-- Michael Flanders