The Cheeseburger Effect

A cheeseburger
is a canopy
for a drug
which
makes 'Us'
spew.*

Their footpath
splattered,
fly-born, palm-sugar,
rose carcass,
cat's up
remains,
are always
consumed,
snatched
from
globally
thrown
down,
yellow,
waxy,
paper,
parcel
wrappers.

"So, see? You don't need
to even have washed your hands,
Ronnie... baby!"

Wrapped, 
like Christmas presents
for ghosts...
In bajillions
of all-night,
teenage,
'Wir
kinder
vom
Bahnhof
Zoo',
zoo
kitchens.
To later,
be snatched at,
from between,
the walking shoes.
By a man,
on his belly,
still,
("In a tie!
And a business shirt with one button
still,
intact!"),
in their midst,
and by a fist
that for years
had not seen
the reflection
of its
own face.