To whom it McNut concern


af Fjodor Piccaluga


Oh heavenly Muse,

sing of ducks that dig McDonalds

of Nantucket McNuggets near

Ronald’s rod-hard pocket-

rocket, of bowel release,

of Quarter Pounders with cheese.


Sing of the rod-stiff rhyme sticking

Ronald to McDonald,

Big Mac to buttcrack,


in paperbacks by Kerouac.


Sing of depressive happy meals,

of intestinal puns, the runs, and Big n’ Tasty pastry buns,

burgers, buckets of world famous fries,

and about these lines whose verse apply,

a position, at McDonalds on my behalf,

Sing McMuse, for the cheddar-Chaucer-chipotle-top-cheese-tuna-chicken-classic-tub-cropped-crispy

Wife of Bath.


Oh Muse, i’m lovin’ it’, so

Bondage, bind and bun me

With the burgereal unicorn of your pants

The company perk, the uniform, true romance,

Indeed I’m open to all suggestions,

The Big Mac, Macbeth, or the Honey-Mustard-Snack-Wrap in question,

If only I receive minimum wage

I’ll slave and slave to the end of days,

If you, Ray McKrook, allow me to have a say,

Employ, exploit or Whopper me…HAVE IT YOUR WAY.

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