Poetry Drawer: At McDonald’s by Gabriella Garofalo

At McDonald’s, where sweet poisons
Lure you through dead garish lips,
Different jolts, different shades outside:
Some say ‘God’s hands’, some ‘springs of dark’
But we don’t bother, no time to waste
Over difference or metaphysics
For we thrive among probs, cads,
Mist, bikes, fatsoes, even a dirty blonde
Who had her trees deported from beds to beds,
Oh and look, do you remember the handyman
Who shouted no and got slain, how sad!
But the silence of the trees stayed with us,
That and the grudge against moves and peeves –
O trees, my dear trees, if I ever remind our life
I can’t bad-mouth you, my narcissistic trees,
Although you bend too much to pat the river,
Although still waters are your private looking glass,
You never play dirty when darkness skips
The hands I’m stretching out
So I’ll leave you alone and darkness I’ll exile
To those cathedrals where natural born raptors
Look ready to christen him in bliss and water –
Now you shut up, I know they’re different,
Love kicking and breathing,
Life a palsied ghost eager to scaring
Or eating up blue funk:
A loving child taught me so on a wintry day,
I got it fast, that’s why the raptors
Can’t grab me, so please don’t fret,
Let them smile sweet, let Mummy say
‘Know what? We call it life’ –
Life that restless bite?
Funny while running back I feel for them
My raptors that can’t bite,
I mean, honest, I grasp the difference
But they can’t, such crying shame –
Oh, and beware all that green getting so fast to your head,
My dear darling trees.

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