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by Michael R. Burch

There is no sense of urgency
at the local Burger King.

Birds and squirrels squabble outside
for the last scraps of autumn:
remnants of buns,
goopy pulps of dill pickles,
mucousy lettuce,
sesame seeds.

Inside, the workers all move
with the same très-glamorous lethargy,
conserving their energy, one assumes,
for more pressing endeavors: concerts and proms,
pep rallies, keg parties,
reruns of Jenny McCarthy on MTV.

The manager, as usual, is on the phone,
talking to her boyfriend.
She gently smiles,
brushing back wisps of insouciant hair,
ready for the cover of Glamour or Vogue.

Through her filmy white blouse
an indiscreet strap
suspends a lace cup
through which somehow the ****** still shows.
Progress, we guess, ...

and wait patiently in line,
hoping the Pokémons hold out.

NOTE: This poem is almost entirely fiction. There was a Pokemon craze when my son Jeremy was a little boy, and I did see birds and squirrels foraging in parking lots from time to time (and sometimes fed them myself from my car’s window), but everything else is fiction. On the rare occasions that I went to a Burger King, I would go through the drive-in, so I wouldn’t have known who the manager was, or how much time he/she spent on the phone. I think the poem probably started with the image of birds and squirrels squabbling for scraps of food in a parking lot as I waited in a line of slow-moving cars, then evolved as I imagined the hassle of going inside to “speed things up.” Keywords/Tags: America, Americana, American, culture, society, vanity, youth, progress, fast food, video games, Pokemon, MTV, music videos, glamour, models, supermodels, fashion, transparency, see-through, bra, breast, *******
You burden me with your questions
You'd have me tell no lies
You're always asking what it's all about
Now listen to my replies
You say to me I don't talk enough
But when I do I'm a fool
These times I've spent, I've realized
I'm going to shoot through
And leave you...


You weigh the world with your questions
You'd have us tell no lies
I'm always asking what it's all about
Now listen to your replies
You say to me I don't talk enough
But when I do I'm a fool
These times I've spent, I've realized
I'm going to shoot through
And leave you...*\




Lou Vaughn Dec 2015
Times I miss:
Post MTV but pre LOL
When Windows were just windows
and a mouse was just a mouse
When an unanswered phone call
meant no one was home,
not that they didn't want to talk
Getting letters in the mail
and mixed tapes from friends
I will take these times to bed with me tonight
They will manifest into new memories
created in my lucid dreams
so I will miss nothing tomorrow
Sethnicity Aug 2015
I don't know where to start... I feel plane
infinite points traced around my brain.
Many ticks ***** injustice migraines
Right now I wanna vent on hot air blimps
self proclaimed pimps
till my tongue twists limp
or turn a loaded gun on immature mutual funds
my grain is rough
and I've grown bitter an tough
my mind metal is scuffed
I Dizzied my Gills be cheeks blowin up guts
what happened to the wonderful world
musta been the Tea.. now I'm Ralphing up Chucks
high society
in memory
it used to be
where I wanted to be
Visa Via
English living was the life for me
guess I'd traded up for some Hot **** reaL-It-Tea
I think I've had enough
guess I stuffed and over fluffed
had too much empty v (MTV)
sipping on that 4 twin Tea
Now I gotta V!

I vibrate so viciously
I violate all variations of conform Ahh!, Tea
Been too long slipping on and spilt ma Chi
Poetry is rarely this irreverent and raw... It's a travis Tea!
Coop Lee Jul 2015
i watched the slow death of MTV.
the music palace impaled and heaved
onto a coal-hot pyre of cool kid consumer trash.
pregnant teens, range rover birthday bonnets,
& ***** jungle-sweat challenges.

smoke the spirits of stolen leaves.
traverse the cineplex stairs and exits
glowing. mammoth screens,
with their long shadows, long teeth, long
celluloidal gods.
death to this too.

set a heap of old chairs and furniture on fire
in the backyard, hoping neighbors will gather
to drink and laugh. or at least one of them to yell
and grab you by the collar,
violently whistling.
wait and bleed.
recently published in The Bayou Review

— The End —