Below is the poem entitled How The Big Mac Got The Gherkin which was written by poet
OMara. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Once upon an ancient time
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute.
‘Twas then the mighty Big Mac
got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods
and stars made white the sky
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
lay on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac,
with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
ce qu'il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it
was this green thing from a jar
The Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least,
is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth,
and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia
and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind
to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he applied a little tickle.
The burger gave a little laugh
and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it
aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of the foulest burger buggery.