Together two words so ironic
A concept that has proved moronic
For nothing ever comes that’s good
From that which we now call “Fast Food”
It’s quite the stretch to call it food
Implies that it is what we should
Consume to nourish bod and soul
But only if quick death’s our goal
Prepared and served up oh so quickly
But after eating we feel sickly
But so addicted we’ve become
Yet if we knew where it came from
The factory and frozen bins
The boxes, bags and metal tins
We’d cover up our mouths and run
Instead this war has long been won
And the loser is our arteries
In pursuit of eating food with ease
And yet, in spite, why dare complain?
When in line I will stand again
Acknowledging I’ve lost the fight
By savouring each guilty bite…