Long Fast food Poems
Long Fast food Poems. Below are the most popular long Fast food by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fast food poems by poem length and keyword.
Twice a month on our tiny little Isle
A group of heroes go that extra mile
Wearing protective clothing they clean the beach
Removing vast amounts of rubbish within their reach
Plastic bottles, fast food containers and tins
Items tossed away so thoughtlessly – it’s a sin
So many marine animals can get tangled in discarded plastic
They need our protection, or the results could be very drastic
Hundreds of bin bags of rubbish are removed from our beach
Restoring them to beauty, now they are as pretty as a peach
Volunteers work tirelessly with amazing solidarity
To help ‘Beach Buddies’ which is a registered charity
Contest: Stuff Thomas Martin
10th June 2015
Man #1:
If you like county music…you’re a Nazi.
If you still go the church…you’re a Nazi.
If you ever owned a gun…you’re a Nazi.
If you watch superhero films…you’re a Nazi.
If you drive a gas-powered car…you’re a Nazi.
If you liked to go fishing…you’re a Nazi.
If you hold doors for women…you’re a Nazi.
If you don’t trust the media…you’re a Nazi.
If you do trust the media…you’re an idiot.
If you believe in free speech…Nazi.
If you ever asked for ID… Nazi.
If you stream television…Nazi.
If you own a dog, not a cat…Nazi.
If you’ve ever seen a rodeo…Nazi.
If you like fast-food fries…Nazi.
If you act like a Nazi…ANTIFA.
High heels—Nazi!
Baseball cap—Nazi!
G.E.D—Nazi!
Don’t like wine—Nazi!
Spit, don’t swallow—Nazi!
Ever want children—Nazi!
Nazi-Nazi-Nazi-Nazi! Nazi!!
Nazi, you’re all dam Nazis! All of you!
Agree with me of you’re a Nazi!!! Bwaaaaahhhh—
Thud.
Man #2:
Holy crap, did that guy just have a stroke?
Should we help him?
Man #3:
Nah, why bother. He’s probably
A Nazi anyway…
In her ivory tower, she was raised,
A sheltered child, a life of ease,
But Alice's tale, Lorina's heart had seized,
Her mind now set on a different phase.
Married at twenty to a man much too old,
Her life as a trophy wife grew stale,
And so she plotted, her heart gone cold,
Her husband's demise she'd avail.
With her inheritance, she set out to be,
The White Rabbit, a villainous spree,
Robbing fast-food joints, with hi-tech toys,
Spider-Man and Frog-Man, she'd often annoy.
But one day, a Kwikkee Burger spat,
Refusing to serve her breakfast repast,
She beat them up, two cops arrived,
And Judge Elkhart's son, poor Dan, he died
Elkhart sought revenge, in the courtroom,
He shot Dodson, a thundering boom,
A court reporter died, and in the hare came,
Her giant rabbit mech, saving her name.
The Terrible Two, with Walrus by their side,
They caused havoc in Brooklyn, no longer tied,
To clumsy matches with amphibians, they sought,
Vengeance, with the help of the ones they'd caught
But Spider-Man, Leapfrog, and Frog-Man too,
Defeated them, their victory in view,
White Rabbit resurfaced, with new help in tow,
But Mad Hatter and Dormouse were there just for show.
Grizzly and Gibbon stopped her bank heist,
She tried to ransom them, but they didn't bite,
Bombing the city, demanding five billion,
Spider-Man and his team stopped her, just winning.
She fell for Arcade, his deathtrap design,
Kidnapping Wolverine and Black Cat, he'd be fine,
But the heroes they won, leaving Arcade and her,
Abandoned in Savage Land, whining loudly as churr.
Joining Hood's Gang, she fought for more power,
Against Mister Negative, she never did cower,
But dealing in drugs, an effort foiled by M. Jane,
White Rabbit, was defeated once again.
March 22, 2023
Marvel Superheroes Supervillians and Superanimals Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Verse 1
Yo, it’s Jacksonville, where shadows linger long,
The streets whisper tales, but we gotta stay strong,
From 103rd where the echoes of pain,
A fatal shot fired, left families in chains.
Once the crime peaked, like a wave at the beach,
But hope washed up, yeah, it’s within reach.
Homicides fell, yeah, we fought and we bled,
But violence creepin’ back, heavy thoughts in our heads.
Fast food fronts, where the masked faces lurk,
Caught in the hustle, feel the pressure, it’s work,
Armed robberies striking, they’re takin’ our dreams,
While the city stays silent, plagued by sirens and screams.
A woman caught in crossfire, what’s the plan?
We gotta rise up, unite, it’s a call to the land.
Jacksonville’s a canvas, painted in gray,
But in the heart of the struggle, we find a way.
Chorus
In these streets where we hustle, where the struggle is real,
We’re dreamin’ of a change, yeah, we’re searchin’ for heal.
From the blocks to the beaches, we’ll rise from the ground,
Jacksonville’s resilience is the strength we’ve found.
Verse 2
The Avenues mall, it’s a spot where they caught,
A shootin’ that rattled, left the city distraught.
But we breathe life in the face of the fight,
Combatin’ the darkness, ignitin’ the light.
From Moncrief to Beach, we’re takin’ a stand,
Gather ‘round the youth, let’s uplift our own hands.
Targeted violence? Nah, we aiming for peace,
In a world full of chaos, we yearn for release.
We navigate these streets with our eyes to the sky,
Mapping out a vision, no more askin’ why.
The cycle’s gotta break, we’re the change that we seek,
In the land of the bold, where the strong never weak.
Through the stories of pain, we’ll weep and we’ll hope,
In the ink of our struggle, learnin’ how to cope.
So let’s build up our city, brick by brick,
In Jacksonville, Florida, we’re stronger, that’s it.
Chorus
In these streets where we hustle, where the struggle is real,
We’re dreamin’ of a change, yeah, we’re searchin’ for heal.
From the blocks to the beaches, we’ll rise from the ground,
Jacksonville’s resilience is the strength we’ve found.
Outro
Yeah, this is a call for our people to stand,
Through the trials we face, united hand in hand.
Jacksonville, rise up, let the world know our name,
In the heart of the struggle, we’ll ignite the flame.
Working night shift out on the retail floor,
stocking cans and boxes till her back’s broke.
Trying to live on minimum wage,
eating PB and J and drinking generic coke.
Cashiering all day at the fast-food joint,
collecting tips to try to make ends meet.
A big fake smile on her make up covered face,
blisters the size of quarters on her feet.
Watching TV without cable,
talking on a phone that still has a chord.
Growing a tire around her middle,
because pasta and potatoes is all she can afford.
Walk to work cause her car won’t start,
sure as Hell can’t buy both food and gas.
So when the man says he’ll make America Great,
she says that he can just kiss her ass.
When Clive was nineteen years old
he graduated from high school,
it had taken him five years,
but he would not become a fool.
He’d seen why not two years prior
when is brother John had gang-banged
and was shot down in an alley,
not found until his corpse stank.
The same fate had met his father
back when he was a baby,
and despite all the evidence
his mother cried,”Conspiracy!”
Clive would not allow himself to
be subjected to the same end,
if high school brought a crummy job
then he would work, unlike his friends.
So he set out that summer day
wearing the best clothes that he owned,
and went about from place to place,
to all types of shops did he go.
Most of them were not hiring
despite the strong economy,
a restauranteur even said,
“I wish I could help you buddy.
“But the city raised base wages
to fifteen dollars an hour,
I had to fire all but two,
and I still can’t pay the power!”
Frustrated, Clive started on home,
when he walked part a fast food joint,
and what he saw at the counter
made the young man rather annoyed.
A Latino man took the orders,
so Clive asked,”What is your pay?”
The man looked nervous, then he choked,
“Sorry senior, no anglaise!”
Clive was pretty furious
when he reached his mother’s flat,
she sighed deep, then she just clucked,
“Didn’t I warn you about that?
“They’re all looking to keep us down,
they like seeing our people wrecked.
We’ll go to welfare tomorrow,
see about getting you a check.”
Clive’s fury then boiled over,
and a hot raged marred up his face,
he balled his fist and seethed out loud,
“Now let me get this all straight...
They come with pockets full of sunshine,
yellow pills like dying stars,
scattered along Kensington’s broken spine—
this avenue of hollow breaths and burnt-out dreams.
Neon signs flicker in the fog of dusk,
their glow mocking the dim light
in glassy eyes sunk deep
into faces carved by hunger and haze.
Skin stretched thin over bones
like plastic bags snagged on rusted fences.
The streets breathe slow and shallow,
littered with needles—
silver promises turned poison.
Laughter here is brittle,
shattered glass crunching beneath tired feet.
Even the wind moves carefully,
afraid to stir the fragile ruins.
Once, there were playgrounds—
now swings creak with the ghosts of children
who no longer laugh.
The scent of fast food grease
mixes with the copper tang of blood and despair.
Deals whispered in alleyways
like prayers to a silent god.
They clutch at that sunshine—
tiny suns to burn away the cold,
to melt the ache gnawing at their ribs,
to blind them from the slow decay
creeping up their veins.
But the sunshine is ash.
It burns bright for a breath,
then leaves them colder,
slumped against crumbling row houses
where no one knocks,
no one waits.
Mothers with hollow gazes
search for sons lost
in the amber glow of spoon and flame.
Sirens wail like mourning doves,
carrying bodies wrapped in stillness
from corners that forget names.
Kensington weeps at dawn,
the city waking
to streets swept clean of stories
no one dares tell.
And still—
they come with pockets full of sunshine,
chasing warmth that turns to shadow,
burning out beneath a sky
that never learned to care.
The night rain cooled the following day, making it feel like winter. Climate change continues to wreck the weather, and spring days bloom in winter. Earthworm carcasses rot in drying puddles. Freshly cut grass soaks the air and drowns the lungs. A murder of crows pecks at the bloated insect bodies floating atop the grass. Their joyous caws echo across the overcast sky. The feathers on their swollen bellies gleam from my car's headlights.
"I'll have the 3-piece chicken strip combo with hot sauce, and a medium Cherry Coke." A crow waits below the drive-thru window.
"Here's your order." Medium Cherry Coke crosses the facing windows. "Than—" The crow strikes the brown bag and spills the order on the floor.
"Please pull around to the front, and I'll redo your order." The crow's laughter reaches the front of the building and follows the fast-food server back inside.
It was the Main Street hangout for the teenagers of its day.
For a nickel they could dream as they heard the jukebox play!
Wispy white metal chairs surrounded tables topped with glass.
(There were secluded booths where lads could woo their lass!)
From the tin covered ceiling hung a fan with its whirring blade,
And arrayed along the soda fountain were the tools of the trade.
Symmetric white and black tiles covered the spotless floor.
A gleaming steel and marble counter completed its bright decor!
Presiding over all was a guy oddly named the "soda jerk."
Clad in impeccable white, he took great pride in his work.
He was a wizard at his craft and when his sorcery was done,
He'd whipped up a heavenly treat that couldn't be outdone!
A Hamilton mixer, scoops and ladles were the tools of his trade.
In a trice he'd make a root beer float or some tasty lemonade,
Hot fudge sundae, banana split, soda or strawberry shake,
Cherry coke or any such concoction you'd ask him to make!
The "soda jerk" did his duties with consummate skill and grace,
Always with a ready quip and a contented smile upon his face.
Fast food joints or drive-ins today do not have that elegant flair,
That yesteryear's soda fountains and ice cream parlors had to share!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Homelessness is so sad.
Slowly it crawls into you,
takes you from yourself,
lock you in a world you never taught existed.
The fright in the night is the worst.
You see ghosts of the dead and the living.
Drugs and alcohol become your patriarch
to pull you through the nights.
Here! Water becomes a luxury,
no toilet or bath and definitely no privacy,
and how it vexes the humans should you open their tap
for a few drops of water.
They’ll shout and scream even as you praise them with thanks.
God forbids on thanksgiving comes a few plates,
A scorn from the humans in their faces dries you up,
fills you up, impede your soul,
should the earth open at that moment
you would jump in.
See that lady wearing all those dirty clothes,
So disheartening.
Would you believe she has a masters degree,
and was a regional manager for a fast food chain.
Being workaholic not always good,
It took her marriage, her kids,
and everything she had.
Under this bridge is now her home.
So we don’t know we don’t judge.
Why we do what we do leaves a gap in our thinking.
That lady fed the poor on thanks giving
but never had I seen a plate reach her on thanksgiving.
why? because she would wait to the end
making sure everyone else had the chance of a thanksgiving dinner,
then she’ll eat the scrap off of our plate if there is any
and she’ll say I am not hungry.
She got more joy watching everyone enjoy thanksgiving.
©Al Juman 10/10/1998