I want to learn a Quarter Pounder at half past two,
That is, if the shake machine isn’t broken.
I want to sing “Mack Tonight” out under the moon
And help you figure out why Grimace’s ass is swollen.
I want to hunt and kill a fryguy or two
And keep their bushy heads as a token.
I’d like to take you back into the kitchen
And smear you with old french-fry goo.
I could cover you with burgers and chicken
And see what those sesame seed buns do.
I want Instagram pictures and fresh gluten
A little dirty-birdy burger restaurant too.
I want to get into apple pies and face paint
Clean your onion bunions with those big red shoes.
Spitting a Gordon Ramsey burger complaint
Behind a yellow suspender or two.
And do the Charleston on a greasy cook plate
For, at least, a couple hours with you.
In this poem, I wanted to get into some more controlled absurdity. Most of this came out of my own wild imagination, but I did a little bit of Google painting when I got stuck. While this one is wild and crazy like my other Flarf poems have been, I was trying to stick to one theme and keep at least a semblance of narrative. I think I needed that extra control to get those rhymes in there.