McDonalds

McDonalds

A place where squalid youths all pale and wan
Carry out the will of an American.
Under garish colours and a grinning clown,
Managerial overlords instruct their serfs to smile, not frown.

A place where death’s served greasy in a tasteless bun.
Where Ronald McDonald is an enforcer of fun.
But smart leather sofas and Internet access can’t hide,
What’s really going on inside.

A place where reformed carcasses of once noble beasts of the land and fish of the sea,
Are served up for noisy , ungrateful children’s tea.
By parents who are too blind to see,
The saturated fat, waging war on young arteries,
Called a Happy Meal, with no sense of irony.

Complete with a cheap little plastic toy,
Guaranteed to fill a child’s heart with joy.
A heart, thanks to McDonalds may not have long to beat.
McDonalds, “I’m Loving It”!