APROXM: POETRY

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PREFACE: The assignment for this was "protest poetry". Read on for some deep fried angst.



A million many menaces

Agonize my very being.

But none so egregious

As the price for McNuggets I'm seeing

Ten... for four forty-nine.


Four forty-nine?

Get a load of this crap.

That's forty-five cents per nug.

They must have us pegged as saps.

Four forty-nine?

The Burger King knows them dollar fifty.

Wendy's just a dollar more.

This whole business is shifty.


I miss the crunch of their texture.

I mourn the flavorful bites.

But as that price keeps rising

I've got other nugs in my sights.


And, my God, that price keeps rising.

My God is my wallet emptying.

It feels like every time I paw for money,

It's as empty as my being.

And what am I supposed to shove in there

Besides the food I've come to settle for?

What's the price of mental nourishment?

Is it forty-nine cents, dollar four?


What happens when you run out of things you like?

When you run out of people that like you?

Or did they even? That question's on the mind.

Along with all those opportunities I blew.

Along with all those insecurities I accrued.

Along with all that vomit I threw.

Caged inside my brain on the hunt for dopamine.

Enraged because I haven't been happy since thirteen.


And it's bullshit that I feel the way I do.

And it's bullshit if you feel that way, too.

It's frustrating when there's so many unhappy.

It's agonizing when there's nothing to be done

But set your sights on a bottle of rum.

And hope that tonight's the night you end up

Staying asleep as you fall into your slump.


Always searching for that fleeting feeling.

Everywhere around me but none I spy.

And knowing full well when my expiration is due

And knowing full well when the attempt's to be tried

All I want right fucking now.

Is a ten piece McNugget

Four forty-nine.