An Ode to McDonald’s

Beware, oh weary traveller, wandering across the globe

For you have a hidden enemy, a wolf within sheep’s clothes.

And as you wander place to place, your life upon your back,

He ever lurks behind you as he awaits your resolve to slack.

You try to shun his golden fruit, turn a cheek to his advances

But sooner or later every traveller succumbs to the lure of the golden arches.

You consider yourself open to try, flexible, even adventurous,

But there is a limit, we all have a limit, and mine is deep fried albatross.

Duck blood, bring it on after all I’ve been known to tuck in to a nice black pudding,

Cow intestine is testing but I seem to recall I once had some tripe at a wedding.

But I draw the line at innocuous brine in which chicken feet are bobbing

And I can’t see my fate in a shiny white plate on which tiny hearts are still throbbing.

So when all hope is lost and you’re lost in a sea of indecipherable menus

When you run out of pictures and recognisable dishes,

And you’ve definitely run out of wishes.

When all hope has left and you’re left with a plate

Awash with shiny, glistening tubes with no clues

Then where does a weary wanderer turn for a meal,

Just a meal,

Not made out of crispy lice, fried rice and some mice?

When all hope has gone and resolve has dissolved is when HE sees his chance.

And in the distance, he spies, our hungry traveller he spies,

The unmistakable gleam of golden beneath cloudy skies.

A tear fills his eyes

As he knows a man waits, a colourful man with an ear to ear Cheshire cat smile,

And meat, and chips, ice cream, nuggets, and maybe an apple pie.  It’s less than a mile.

London, Rome,

Beijing, Verone,

Sydney, New York,

Chile or York,

Finland, Germany,

Capetown, Romany,

Moskow to Tokyo,

The desert, the moon,

Krakow, Kowloon,

Oceans, valleys, forests, back alleys,

The heights, the depths, the darkest caves

Above the clouds beneath the waves

It’s always less than a mile.