You know how it is, when you have to live on damp loo and troll scratchings..? Even though the nutritional content of all the mushy stuff we’re getting is apparently quite good (the itchy bumps on my ankles have cleared up nicely at any rate) I have found myself getting feverish about drive-thru junk food. Day and night, burgers and fried chicken and stringy little chips float around me…. aaaaaaahhh.

I have had to write another poem. Sorry.

 

KFC FEVER

I must go down KFC again, to the lonely bloke at the fry

And all I ask is a Bargain Bucket and a dangerously hot apple pie

And an MSG kick and that grease pong and the pale thighs frizzling

And a few spots on a hot face and a thick shake drizzling

 

I must go down KFC again, for the call of a Crispy Strip

Is a wild call and hot call, that I’ll not deny my lip

And all I ask is a table top and a plastic seat unsticky

And the flung spray of tomato sauce, upon my fingers, licky

 

I must go down KFC again, to the fragrant, chipsy scene

To the joyous sob of a full gob, and a chin with an oily sheen

And all I bid is a ketchup skid from a laughing fellow diner

And the loud munch of a cheap lunch from a chubby two-year-old whiner

 

I must go down KFC again, to the hiss and the sigh of the fat

And all I ask is a nice taste and no obvious evidence of rat

And that faint disdain when you snag a vein, but you’re well past caring,

And a plastic lid being flipped by a kid, and a scary hoodie staring…

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