#mcdonalds
A man who chose not to eat trendy
He looked at the cost and then he
Looked at them all
And then made the call
He avoided the clown and chose wendy
Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 8:37 AM UTC
mom, dad, i beseech, mayst i receive,
upon thy stop at the station of gas,
salted mcdonalds,
spi fingers, cen
ral and pa tri
toma sty ro
to flow uge
lemon tangos on the dewdrops of my tongue --
musky gold, the first kiss yet to unfold, without the panic
(where should i put my eyes?tooquicktooslow)
But completely unconditional, umami, unending glow.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
It was the summer of 2014, I was just about to turn 13, spending June of summer vacation with my Grandmère, in Paris. Tonight we’re at a fundraising benefit for African relief (it’s always something). It was a coveted ticket, I was told, because Keira Knightley and Rita Ora were there - somewhere. It was being held at an empire-styled museum-estate in Paris, once owned by Josephine Bonaparte.
The rooms were ornate in the extreme, with dark, woodland, panoramic wall murals, large, finicky-looking furniture, heavy, with gold encrusted - everything. It made the small, dark rooms and tight passageways seem foreboding and claustrophobic.
A boy named Théo was my ‘date’ for the evening (NOT my idea). When my Grandmère was a girl, back when hoop skirts were the fashion and F. Scott Fitzgerald was just sharpening his pencils, a girl didn’t attend a function without a date. Théo was in my grade at school, but he was a couple of inches shorter than me, and his voice seemed different every time he talked. He was a surprise; I don’t even know how she found him.
As we snaked through the main house to the solarium, in a parade of otherwise middle aged, formally dressed guests, the dim hallway squeezed us down to a single-file line. Théo kept trying to take my hand, in the darkness, like he’s scared or something. “Stop that!” I warned him.
Then I saw a mirror - ‘Oh!’ I thought in surprise, stopping dead in the hallway to check my hair, straighten my dress, and pose for my imagination. I became aware Théo was talking, again - he always was - saying, “You're wa wa wa,” or something. Call me a casual and indifferent listener.
“Were you talking to me” I asked, “or just making words up?” He looked exasperated - why?
“You're blocking the way,” he said, anxiously, in a squeaky voice, the way he said it made me think he’d said it before.
He gently took my arm to move me along and I wobbled in my high-heels, I wasn’t very good with heels yet. “Easy,” I cautioned him, my arms briefly flailing.
“You know,” I said defensively,“ someone PUT that mirror there.. probably Napoleon or Josephine - they WANTED people to stop there.” Men are so illogical, it’s a wonder they survive.
As we finally entered the solarium, there was a jazz trio playing ‘C’est si bon’ (Arm in arm), what else? I said, “I’m starving.” A long table along a blue-glass wall featured desserts and champagne. My stomach growled.
I looked around, there was nothing for it - action must be taken - and Théo was useless.
“Want to go get something to eat? I asked him.
He lit up as if awakened, “McDonalds?” he asked. Our conversations were in French, naturally. His joy probably meant his parents didn’t like him eating there (American cuisine! = junk food).
“Bien sûr,” (of course) I said, grinning.
I found my Grandmère in a cluster of elegantly dressed patrons - and there was Keira Knightley - gorgeous, in a dress like she wore in that ‘pirate’ movie - she movie-star glittered, otherworldly.
“I’m starving,” I informed Grandmère, “we’re going to get something to eat,” I turned to show her Théo’s delighted face - he was her idea, after all.
“I was hoping to introduce you…” she started.
“Please!” I asked, bouncing up and down on my toes with some urgency, taking her hand.
“Very well,” she said, sighing, after a moment.
I turned away, wrestling my too-large iPhone-6-plus from my sparkly party clutch.
“Hey Siri, Call Charles,” I commanded. A moment later Charles picked up.
“McDonalds, Champs-Élysées,” I said, as Théo grinned, rubbing his hands in glee. “We’re in the solarium,” I added.
“Eyes on,” Charles said, indicating that he had me in sight.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 7:53 AM UTC
I am a royal potato whose shape is a perfect oval,
My fame is so widespread that everyone knows me from the stars to Mars.
This uncontrollable charm I exude is so novel,
that even the queens and kings before me grovel.
Even though this tale may not seem real,
I would still appreciate if you would go to my palace just to say hello.
These days, times have been hard, for the invincible McDonalds has
been winning countless victories.
My young comrades from the north have been skinned and stripped to pieces.
My amazing xylophone that would make the zealous moon jealous has been
burnt in the fire and trampled in the mire.
We must push for the rights of potatoes
Just like the tomatoes
Whose fire and concept of equality
Has driven hungry humans to see reality.
If it was them in the frying pan,
Would it still excite them to ignite
The fire that burns so painfully bright?
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
Late night Macca-run,
Busted up hand-me-down car
Rattling along the rocky road
With his warm hoodie draped around me
Like a toga with a Supreme sticker.
AC's turned off in traffic
As the night breeze is all we need
To enjoy this comfortable night
In his car, together.
I order a hot chocolate.
He orders a cheeseburger.
And we share the fries,
And I drain his pepsi
Until all there is
Is a pile of melted ice
And the soft pallet of knock-off cola
- in which both of us refuse to drink the leftover contents.
The cup is still warm in my hands,
And the car smells of fried food and cocoa powder.
His eyes are focused on the road,
While mine are focused elsewhere.
Soon,
He drops me home,
and ditches the trash.
And that was the end of our quiet late-night dinner-date.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 2:57 AM UTC
one time i tripped like never before
and the jazz in my eyes could light fire
to the old couple’s balding heads next to us
in the mineral wells mcdonald’s
it was a missed opportunity
the tab was amazing
and at my peak, i felt that in each passing second
that great poetry bubbling in me
i didn’t write any, though
so you’ll have to deal with this ****
thanks, j.b.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
In the lonely existence of my thoughts,
The only thing I hear is the soft, loud murmur of words exchanging,
The crunch of wrappers,
Opening
Closing
Wrapping
Being thrown,
The creaks of chairs being moved
To
There
And fro,
The sound of bag chains, trays chuted and orders done,
The calming sound of laughter being made and given.
In the lonely existence of my thoughts,
I found sereneness.
With a cup of cold coffee,
Water draining
Evaporating,
Leaving a circled mark of water on the table
And the light passing,
Gave a sense of serendipity,
With the voice of Adele from the speakers.
In my lonely existence,
The sound of low murmurs gave me assurance.
Of something real and human and true,
Of what it’s like to live and feel,
Of empathy and joy.
And on how my lonely existence can be not so lonely,
Even on a mundane fast food chain
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
When you ask to be friends
I try and simply explain
That after tasting Bluefin tuna
How could I settle for a McDonald's fish fillet?
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 10:02 PM UTC
"Hello, and good day; yes I'm ready to order.
I'd like a Big Mac ...
Oh, I want it on a tray
and not in a sack."
"I want a large fry, freshly dropped
with very light salt.
I'll also have a Chocolate Milkshake,
though I'd really prefer a Malt."
"OF COURSE, I want it super-sized,
are you trying to joke?
Waddia mean $8.50?
Well, now I've gone broke!"
He steps from the counter
and goes to sit down.
The food smells great ...
yet still, he frowns.
"I'll need a second job
if I wish to keep eating here.
I can't binge on these gut-bombs
and still have my beer."
"I wonder if there's an employee discount ...
as I've got the lingo down pat:
I have a Filet-O-Fish and a Coke on your order ...
Would you like some fries with that?"
PLEASE JOIN THE HELLO POETRY FLASHMOB!
SEE THE NOTES BELOW!
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
The following is a rather sleek
Slice of life, reality
A far removed from, masterpiece
Embodiment of last night's epic greed
Two of you are in the crowd
One a bit sensitive to loud sounds
The other, by messy hair, becrowned
Both by fate to a place, now bound
The first is a fine partaker
Life of the party, no doubt
Likely excessive by nature
Natural habitat? A crowd
The second is a binger
Show after show in the dark
No soul anywhere, a ginger
Full of critical remarks
But despite the obvious differences
By chance, you two might meet yet
Both looking undeniably a mess
Under the bright golden arches, I bet
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 8:51 AM UTC
Polished off the last of my ginger ale,
Sitting on the bleachers,
asking for rides when all I can ask for is sleep,
are you dumb, greedy, careless, or just immature?
These thanks took a lot, no sleep for two days,
I awoke a new person, with control, and a new outlook,
how those pigeons in the lot pitter patter around, chased by cars,
they have no struggle but for food,
the way the light hits your eye,
you cant tell if its truly rude,
the sun feeding from the corner,
right past that old man reading,
that silent newspaper listens from the side of my awareness...
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC
And probably I'm the biggest fool ever existed,
As I still hope that she will come back one day.
And she'll announce that it was merely a prank,
As she just wanted to have fun by pranking me.
And she'll expect me to welcome her back here,
As old times she will expect me to still love her.
Maybe she rightly considers me an emotional fool,
For all of her experiments, I serve as the ideal tool.
Maybe I should just let her memories vanish now,
For my own happiness, all her memories I'll mow.
Maybe all my family tell me the right thing after all,
For she is indeed a common, desperate Indian girl.
She is the personification of a great wanna-be girl,
'Cause she had lost her way at an age so youthful.
She will bank on prior experience from childhood,
'Cause she has low emotional intelligence quotient.
She bereaved such a pure lover for some ego issues,
'Cause she was a demo of how good/bad a girl can be.
P.S.: Hope that she'll get complimentary coke/burger!
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
.
Enough is not enough
I want too much.
“Excuse me sir
you haven’t paid too much.
I gave you too much
and you ate everything.
I need to throw away something
and the bin’s spilling."
"I drove too many footsteps
past too many throwaways
too many pylons
water towers
possum-eaten polystyrene cups
Mcdonalds
Mcdonalds
Mcdonalds
camel boxes
and walkers
with socks as hard as coffins.”
Enough is not enough
I want too much.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Don’t think too much
About forbidden touch
Or legal abuse of such
Little creatures like dairy cows and fabric workers.
Don’t feel too much.
The homeless man with his crutch
Can disappear, hush.
Turn your head dear, eat McDonald’s chicken fingers.
Don’t love too much.
Why on real people crush?
People slip through your clutch.
As flashing lights reanimate Rihanna, both your eyes close the shutters.
Our world distracts us from seeing,
Persuades us we need a break.
Deserving one after a day going nowhere.
Turn the TV on to the latest ‘Bachelor’.
So loud. So loud. So loud. Too loud!
I shut my eyes from the too-bright lights.
I need to escape the escape, to find solace.
I put pen to paper and hear its whisper.
Poetry softly roars while TV screams shrill.
You’ll remember the written words for time
Degrees of magnitude than you’ll remember
(consciously) that singing cat meme.
Real love takes more effort
Than a heart reaction on Facebook.
Writing truth takes longer than re-posting.
Yet I want to share myself, not another gif lol.
Mute the volume for a second.
Can deaf ears hear again
the music of
the pen?
Think too much.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
i'm going mad
i put down two runs of reg meat,
a run of quarter meat,
and hell some grilled chicken.
in my dreams
i hear the grill timers going off
i hear the beeping of the cabinets
i hear the loud scream of the microwave
i'm going mad
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
When Napoleon walks into my house, he doesn’t shake my hand
Instead he nods, clears his throat, and says my other name, “Thien.”
“Chu,” I say. He sniffs the air like a K-9 from Denmark,
presses his lips into a line, like one found on a blank page,
like one found on a mirror, and like one found in McDonalds.
He smells the smoke from the Marlboro lights on my black-Tee shirt.
I reach into the pocket of my trousers, searching for cologne:
Tommy; ocean; breeze. It’s lost. I mutter, “son-of-a-bi—”
Chu stares, tries to punish me. I want to laugh, want to shrug.
“Anh-Thien,” says a young voice. I close my eyes. And see my cousin.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Backwards, like a sign that's hard to read. Like a leather jacket that's too stiff in the arms but 2 years off the rack. And then the heart explodes in the esophagus. Pieces of young trust comes out all over what the eyes can see, and each body part wants to go back to their respective bed nestling areas. Sometimes, even this little me gets nervous about being vulnerable. You can only burn the velveteen rabbit once.
These are the monkeys of my throat and the dinosaurs that tend to my fingertips. My skin gets leathery before it feels like silk. I don't smell like a motorcycle or sound like the fast lane but I'm not sure if I want to yet. I'm happier not waiting to randomly be reminded of the pain, it's much better to chase down those hydrogen bombs while the cattle **** is still hot and fire-red. Two served and five Peanuts left for playtime. I rather enjoy being a vampire.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 3:48 AM UTC
the other day i sat alone having lunch in a McDonalds.
i found the Big Mac enjoyable and the wedge fries good enough
but what i truly loved was the cold-ass Oreo McFlurry.
actually, that's a half-lie because the cold-ass Oreo McFlurry
wasn't the only thing i truly loved from that McDonalds lunch.
when i was McSpooning the creamy goodness using my left hand,
the hand that should be reserved for ice cream related endeavors,
this girl wearing a polka-dot dress and a beret came in, stood in line,
and i heard her order: Big Mac, wedge fries and an Oreo McFlurry.
she anxiously tapped her right foot, the foot that should be reserved for tapping,
and i felt love for the first time in months. i didn't know her but i was in love.
it was the kind of momentary love developed for strangers that makes you think:
**** I wish we could sit together in silence at a McDonalds, mouths full,
eating Big Macs, wedge fries and McFlurries being the envy of McDonalds residents."
and then the stranger asks for her order to go and the universe collapses.
the momentary love begins fading slowly and the fantasy is enveloped by greasy fast food smells.
reality is a ***** girl in the polka-dot dress and beret.
it's been 5 minutes since you left. i miss you.
it's been 10 minutes since you left. i've tried forgetting you.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
Oh crap,
I applied for mcdonalds,
But I didn't really want the job,
Now I have an interview,
A day before my graduation ceremony,
****
I'm supposed to have another job interview,
With another burger flipping place,
****
What do I say,
What do I do,
Nervousness consumes me...
Bla...
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC