by T.W. Selvey
- I live in the organs of an urbanized body
- among the sinews and pickles on a bun,
- harvested from Ronald McDonald’s autopsy.
- On a pan, I ordered a trillion times a trillion
- hamburgers, plus a small chocolate shake.
- Your order number is infinity.
- The eternal to-go bag is overflowing.
- I could die under a hamburger avalanche.
- Ron sat there staring at me
- on the other end of the see-saw.
- Where are your entrails?
- I laughed, but he didn’t like that.
- Bereft of hamburgers,
- the playground children rallied,
- soiled and indignant.
- They plotted and established a guerilla faction.
- The sporting goods departments were raided,
- looted by unstoppable children.
- Unstoppably, violently adorable
- children.
- And there arose a pellet gun army,
- roused into battle by the likes of General Motors,
- the heavily decorated General Electric.
- Medals on the general’s chest
- are those light bulbs that come in strings.
- String them up on the back patio.
- They’re great for entertaining on those
- 10 beer can summer nights.
- You want one?
- Please, be my guest and grab
- a can from the cooler.
- While you’re at it,
- I’ll take 10.
- But, when you’re done,
- I’ll skin you alive.
- There are hungry little mouths to feed.
- And, when those little tummies get grumbling,
- It gets to me.
- Listen,
- those little bodies
- barely contain
- so much
- growing violence.
Recently, T.W. Selvey has been published in The Shore, Grody Mag and Silent Auctions. T.W. is the proud curator of a haphazardly curated blog, www.documentdement.com