"hamburger" poems
I feel worried that there has been such a long stretch of time without reward seeking behavior that the part of my brain which handles motivation is now a cold plate of hamburger
By this stage in a man's life, should he not seek another's company?
I don't chill as I did during the time my mind still was soft and simple
I've grown into melancholy, though many memories ago I'd desired socialization
There is globalization; I feel alone, I've bathed, I'm soaked in isolation
I set out two years ago to be sure that I learn before I continue to live, my reasoning suggested that this action shall produce enormous benefit
and my self-esteem was gleaming hot & sensually satisfied
This I learned at 21 was not just for women
But for the wise whom admit they need it
I shall try to smile more, perhaps my brain does not know what reward is
I will fool my brain into happiness, you'll see
With a new mindful world these words will be continued
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
The crow works its way sideways on the wire.
Nature lives at full tilt. It does not worry
That it may soon be used up. It lives in the moment
In pursuit of having a fulfilled purpose.
For the busy crow the fleeting moments pass unnoticed;
Time scarcely has consequences for the satisfied;
Down he flies for crusts of hamburger buns.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie thing to do
then they go off to the pub and say wanna beer to you
i didn’t know what to say at first
these people do like me, yeah
they think i am cool very very cool
yeah they enjoy my company a lot
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
ya see the aussie thing
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
and a hamburger with the lot
ya see ya go to the footy and the first thing you hear is
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie thing to do
then you go off to the city
to a nightclub, a man blows his cigarette smoke right in your face
you say what, are you doing, then
you say
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie thing to do
you see you think your a man but you look like a hooligan
yeah, your aussie mate true blue
you look rough and ready to punch the guy next to you
and then you say
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie thing to do
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
better being a true blue
you see they look ***** and very very rude
as they say
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie thing to do
you go to the footy and then the cricket
and then off to the pub and park illegally and you get yourself a ticket
the police have arrested you, then they let you go
and the first thing you say is
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie thing to do
you see there is nothing wrong with the australian way of life
as long as they just leave me to do my own thing
i would love to have a packet of crisps
but i hear this
wanna beer wanna beer wanna beer
the aussie the aussie the aussie thing to do, MATE
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
My cousin came to my house
And stayed after Thanksgiving
I thought that Thanksgiving food was enough
Boy, was I wrong.
He woke me up at noon
At noon.
Didn’t he know I had to sleep off the Thanksgiving meal?
And he said
As if I should have known.
Could you get me the cheeseburger pizza salad slice?
I replied, From where?
Who would have such a concoction?
But I knew him.
He would be the type
To ask for a cheesy gordita crunch taco from Burger King
And look at their confusion with his own puzzlement.
Then when they told him, we don’t serve that.
He would reply, It’s okay, I have the recipe
I can tell you how it is made.
So I get up and put on my coat.
And gloves.
Because I don’t want grease all over me
And start to walk.
And just my luck
The first snow of the season starts.
Not heavy enough for me to turn back
Just enough snow to turn it into an experience
That made me wish I would have slept upstairs
In the closet
So my cousin could not find me.
Its like the Making the Band 2 show
When Puff Daddy tells them
That he wants cheesecake in a different borough.
So I guess my cousin’s Puffy now.
He said he was into producing….
I get to the pizza place
And tell them what my cousin wants
But it took me three tries to get it all out.
They said, I’m sorry, but we don’t have the cheeseburger pizza salad slice
But we have the chicken pizza salad slice
I said Good enough
I’m sure my cousin would be happy
I would regret those words
I brought the pizza home.
And told him that I got it.
He seemed happy
Until he saw that the meat was chicken
Not cow.
He asked me
Had the audacity to ask
Couldn’t they remove the chicken
And put hamburger meat?
I tried to tell him, That is not how it works
They don’t respect your recipes
They have their own
What is the difference?
He then pointed at the pizza and said
Chicken goes on burgers
It does not go on pizza!
I was stunned into silence
By that logic
I don’t know how cheeseburger and pizza go together.
I told him I would eat it for lunch
So at least one of us was satisfied.
The other had his own ideas
But couldn’t find a store to cook them.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
He skipped and he hopped.
He popped and he locked.
He danced with his feet,
to Mcdonalds' fast beat.
He puffed up with pride;
warm in the inside.
And fresh with his lettuce;
junk food is his fetish.
He never thought what would come;
he thought it was all fun.
In a funky yellow wrapper
and into the warmer he went.
He heard the kaching of the cashier--
someone's money was spent.
He was dragged to the front line
where the lights were all bright.
Like he was sent in for interrogation;
Like in a murderer's plight.
And like that he went.
A tear from his bread skin:
the top of his sesame seed bun head
human teeth sank in.
He yelled and he screamed
with all that he got.
He thought he was happy.
But he's everything he's not.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
Big Four Railroad
In the past a little one had an interest in this story and one of the racers and the longest freight train
The race team was in the living room and their story was being read from the paper mother clueless
We laughed and snickered about our secret that old engineer was proud of us we were not vain
Down the hill we sped past Bino’s station across Jackson the B&O; he was high balling we had to pour it
On between the two tracks he was closing the gap he had nothing to lose but his pride for us it was
Curtains the long black limo a one way ride we streaked the line fifteen feet to spare we just stopped
And turned what a salutation from the engineer half hanging out the widow of that great engine his
Balled fist a shaking you sons with the deafening roar of that train so close we didn’t get to hear the rest
And the train carried him on down the track so Jerry and Larry and the other guy continued on to the
Swimming pool pleased with our speed we forgot about it until on the front of the paper in the bottom
corner it read three Pana youths out run train I guess the old engineer cooled off as he sailed on down
The track we didn’t know he talked to the tower as he passed so we didn’t get first prize or a blue
Ribbon but in a small way we entered into the great and wonderful tales of train lore along with Jessie
and Frank I told you when in trouble I had three actions fight talk or run that day the running won the
Day for these three amigos this memory was triggered by that same old paper this time it was talking
About the Amtrak detour I remember those passengers all those years ago setting there in their seats
flying through our town and the hook and the mail sack from the tower where that old bakery could be
smelled all night all the way out at the park as we watched tables for old F.S. Refinery I’m glad we didn’t
race a passenger train or this would be a hamburger story enjoy G.H.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
I think in Japanese,
write down my thoughts in English,
then twist it all back into sushi:
a tasty bite to eat.
My mind is like origami
folding thoughts into meditation;
meditation unfolds
into a crisp sheet of city lights.
I love you big much,
love you big time;
I love the way you giggle nervously.
Titter-titter,
"Tee-hee-hee!"
It must be amazing to find everything so funny.
Big city, sake sunset;
a karaoke moon rises
over a robotic, neon inception.
(transmutation)
Transformers, Transformers:
autobotic-neurotic Bumblebee
comes to the aid of Samurai Prime.
"Autobots, transform!!"
Bored of the bright lights?
Weary of the snappy-happy gaijin
doing photo-photo
while they look for a sweet sakura-panpan?
Then take a leisurely stroll up to Hokkaido,
where there's less sucky-sucky,
and more bow-down-low-austerity
alongside the 108 gongs a-bonging.
Chant a few prayers,
speak with the sacred cedars,
take a dip in the hot springs
with some smiling monkeys,
and watch snow fall, together.
Nippon, you offer everything.
I can eat 20 times a day
without gaining a pound.
There's always more room
for miso, chanko nabe, shabu-shabu,
gyozo, okonomiyaki—
I am going to stop writing this list
so that I don't drown in my saliva.
I refuse to look back,
refuse to go back to the boredom
of white picket fences and hamburger dreams;
I want to stay here forever.
I love you big much,
love you big time;
totemo ureshii da.
March 1st, 2012
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
I'm surprised we're having a picnic on the east wing!
Our company almost never gives us anything!
Underpaid with no benefits makes this picnic even better
To think I was going to give in my resignation letter
With so many hamburgers, hot dogs, and more,
It's a fast food restaurant galore!
A table packed full with yummies.
Today, a lot of beef will be in tummies.
People reaching for their plates
The caterers come out of their waits
One by one, they serve each voracious goer
For a pay that probably couldn't get any lower
Janice comes, with her broken polish and nails
And a scream a joy echos out like whales
She's so drunk, oh my god haha she's so wired
It's the unpaid overtime or another threat of being fired
Poor thing... we finish our girl talk
and problems on my mind, I begin to walk
Feeling my appetite begin to poke me,
I bite into my hamburger with resounding glee
Nipping the bread, it's fluff presses against my lips
I close my eyes, as my senses go in dips
The precious aroma of divine baked bread
As my tongue and bun are set to wed.
Each bud met with delicious waters of steak
The ketchup creating a dreamy, saucy lake
Scrumptious, delicious
Incredible, nutritious...?
It doesn't matter, I've met my goal
And the taste, goodness it makes my mind roll
Forgetting everything while I finish the rest
Golly, this food is the best
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
Never heard about a working of a court,
I was on the stand,
My counsel was a good lawyer,
The prosecutor had a fiery temper,
There was a minor chaos,
The judge banged his gavel
"Order, Order".
I whispered audibly,
"Chicken hamburger,chips,salad and a can of coke".
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
i am my grandmother’s small and plump tears
when she thinks of her pueblo.
i am my mother’s broken english
as she greets the cashier.
i am my sister’s abandoned dreams,
her acceptance letter is etched into my palm.
i am my brother’s path to citizenship
along with all the photographic evidence.
i am my brother in law’s laughter
when he speaks to the nephew he has never met.
i am the ever constant fear
of being denied a home.
i am the secrets carried on backs
through miles and miles of desert.
i am the pan dulce on sunday mornings.
i am the mole and carnitas at birthday parties.
i am the thick hair on arms.
i am the first bite of a burger king hamburger
after years of poverty.
i am the first item of clothing bought at a kmart
after years of patching up old clothes.
so how dare you think less of me?
you do not know what i carry.
all this pain.
all this joy.
all this strength.
i am chicana.
the bridge between two worlds.
i will not be burned down.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 4:22 PM UTC
Tonight, I cannot sleep because
I am too hot.
My face shines like wax
With sweat and oil
And the heat is like wet jellyfish in my clothes
And I must *** so I get
Up and when I see the dark me-creature in the mirror
I think of myself not as human
But blood and bones and fat and meat.
Just a biological fleshpile.
Chalk and butter and copper juice and pink slime hamburger.
I won’t turn on the light because I
Like to pretend to be blind when it’s dark.
I pretend that blackness is just water to swim through
And I feel my way to the can.
I leak yellow
And think of hospital catheters
And how I’m just a bag of warring fluids
Propped up on sticks.
I get up and vertigo swirls my brains
With an egg beater on low
Until my inner ear is quite confused
And I go whump on the sharp tiles like a dropped onion.
Before I flip the light switch,
All I can get through my greasy three-pound brain is
"Maybe it'll need an X-ray."
I slaughter
And mangle myself in this manner
Every five minutes.
All night.
I don’t want to be a thing that dies.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
Hell hath no fury like a toddler who wants it and wants it NOW
!
Screaming pulling and flailing…a reminder of how she was conceived in the first place.
Hell hath NO fury like a mother on her last straw!
So close to breaking that camels back
.
Though there feels like there is no other emotion as strong as fury when you are just…
You just can’t.
You need a minute.
You collect yourself, or at least try, because who else is going to make that hamburger helper you despise so much?
You step back in the room scattered with death traps that play those oh too familiar songs
And the storm...has calmed.
You huff a sigh of epic proportions releasing the stress of the eternity that just passed,
(Which is equal to about 10-15 normal people minutes.)
and she mimics you with the grin of innocence a hundred times over.
You sit there staring at this exuberant life form you’ve created and you can’t help but wonder if it’s all real.
You notice, for the thousandth time how much she looks like you.
You notice for the millionth time how much she means to you.
Hell hath no fury compared to her admiration and love for me…
And my love for her.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
00:49 Carmel momin' there
although men
it's scary
for almost anything you know after all the model
finally
garcia alcohol use at all
finale jurors
for them to you
often it is not
come on saturday
contain delaware
commune daze on
continue
housing
billion
went through the ebay
dosing
mean are you reading for only
emailing here and your mom
along all you are not
using spoon this long
didn't the Stalin
today is hamburger
3:31 darlin'
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
It was spring when the old things get cleared away
and I opened a drawer that was mostly closed now;
in the back was a ring of keys I hadn't touched forever
because the doors they opened were gone.
My first car, a castoff from my father we used in high school
to go to practice, or for hamburgers, or to the movies
in a time when that was the most fun we could have.
I see the boys now, smiling and singing songs you never hear anymore.
The key to my the apartment I had going to school, a little place
I shared with Jimmy Redd just off campus where we
drank, caroused and learned how to cook hamburger helper
between working and going to class.
The key to my first office and the house I bought where
some of my kids lived and I had a future
that was wasted by trusting people whose most important
love was in the mirror every morning
Then there were no keys for years when I could not unlock
the doors I lived behind in places where
the only comfort was a date yet to come as I waited
and the world turned without me, changing everything
Which turned out to be for the best
For the last unused key was to my first home after leaving high school
the place love became real and where the missing part
of me had been waiting through her own trials.
I smiled and held the keys tight then put them back into the drawer
they are not useless as I thought
because the doors they open are those I will
always be able to enter.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
does hamburger meat stick together because it is still searching for the ghost of it's bones?
in college, i worked in a factory.
i trudged to work every monday morning at five thirty and put on gloves
to plunge into the sticky mess of beef that i weighed and clipped and submerged in.
the meat sticks together and bleeds into the same palm, which is my own.
i am livestock.
i am a nonsensical sticky mass of fat that is being pulled apart by another.
although i am trying to pull myself back together,
the bones i clung to were yours.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
coffee tastes better in Spain
a simple hello is groundbreaking
comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture
the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)
they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger
sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home
if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€
crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal
never doubt the power of distance
now you can never say you didn’t try
just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean **** off” isn’t universal
sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be
“I’ll never see these people ever again”
have pride
ask me now what it is that I want
I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases
vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy
remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea
your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked
art galleries are best enjoyed alone
now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is
write it down if you want to forget it
acknowledge buried truths
eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think
go to movies at the tallest cinema
slip a little on the cobblestones
lay for hours on the beach
then
go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace
Glasgow – 1/8/15
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
It's strange
the way a cluster of neurons in your head reacting to some particular stimulus can make your heart feel like hamburger meat
As if there really is a hole in there, and everyone can see right through it.
What kind of strange fiction allowed debilitating pain to come from a mere firing sinapse?
How unfitting, that such an incomprehensibly small and silent event begets the destruction of worlds.
You'd think
that with the breaking of a heart should come some ceremony
Smashing of a gong, ringing bells, the flight of a thousand crows or even the sound of breaking glass.
But we're left with heavy dreams that tug at our consciousness and even heavier moments upon waking and remembering that you have a hole there, that everyone can see right through
that didn't even warrant shattering dinnerware.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
( Written as a rejoinder to my friend's poem: "Poem written to a buxom young Lady")
You’re very tall
And painfully thin.
Your bust and waist
the same.
Your voice is high
and pitchy.
To hear it causes pain.
Your wardrobe,
much like Superman’s,
lacks all variety.
You’re an unfit
***** mother
you’ve neglected
poor sweetpea.
Yet two men
battle over you.
It strikes me
a little strange.-
but in your cartoon universe
You are the only game.
I think I’d side with Whimpy
And watch the others fight.
I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday
for a hamburger tonight.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 11:18 AM UTC
Do you really need that second slice?
Don't you dare to super size!
Guzzling down large sugary drinks-
Do you rally think that's wise?
Your hamburger is much too large
I'd cur it down to size
until its like those square ones
that White Castle serves sans fries.
I taught the City not to smoke
in that I was thought wise.
Unhand that Nathans hot dog!
It will go straight to your thighs.
I guess I'm just a Puritan,
my happiness undone
by the thought that somewhere, someone
might still be having fun.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** weregeld on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold, scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick
If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Won the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club
If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he bangs the lectern for a war,
That glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and smoke
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
The turn of the tide
the swell of the sea
the fizz of the foam
we're at the seaside yipee.
The brown fried onions
for the hamburger with red sauce
to steady one's nerves
on the crazy golf course.
The ride on the donkey
wearing a hat that says "kiss me quick"
Now the teeth are stuck together
it's the toffee apple on the stick.
Go on then just push one more penny
To see it topple the rest down and more
They say just one more will do it!
They say there are pennies galore.
Endless cups of English tea on a cold beach
A gale blowing behind the leaning wind break
But not one little moan do we hear
because it's a holiday for goodess sake.
Grandad has his knotted handkerchief
protecting his red, bald, shiny head.
Grandma is yawning in her creaking deckchair
ready for her nicely made bed.
The turn of the tide
and the swell of the sea.
Digging cold sand with a bucket and *****
to make a sandcastle or three.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
it's hard to imagine that you're not here with me.
it's even harder to imagine
that you're with her..
does she know you?
i don't mean your favorite color
or your middle name-
i mean does she really know you?
does she know
how you hate pizza sauce?
or how the restaurants
never get your simple hamburger order correct?
does she know
how you still listen to your dad's music or
does she laugh at your style?
does she
put up with your sudden mood swings when you don't remember your medicine?
when she reads your poems,
does she admire your amazing vocabulary?
i hope she knows how lucky she is.
when you see rain,
do you think of us dancing in it?
do you think of me
when you see roses
or remember how you used to call me nicknames
only we understood?
do you think of me at all..?
a part of me doubts it.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC