A writer at McDonald’s found a wrapper round his straw;
It struck him as a metaphor for miscarriages raw.
Shoving his Big Mac and fries away in thoughts so deep
He heeded not that ketchup on his pants began to seep.
That wrapper loomed so large to him, in such a mystic way,
That he began to write things down upon his plastic tray.
He wrote of inequality, of falling leaves, of death;
He scribbled how a milk shake could be likened to Macbeth.
He gazed upon the customers around his shabby booth,
And wept to think that most of them would never know the truth.
His great heart yearned to educate the fast food hoi polloi,
While gobs of special sauce most of his arteries did cloy.
And as he slumped right over on his placemat quietly,
He was heard to murmur “Quarter Pounders make you free.”
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