I yearn for junk.
Don’t care if it goes to my trunk.
Dreaming of eating unhealthy food.
Finally I’m in the mood.
Don’t have to go near tough hood.
Fortunate there’s no workers’ strike.
Going to a place I like.
It’s Church’s Chicken.
Fried chicken should still be good.
Never tasted like wood.
I will eat one piece.
Then give nine to myself.
Imaging biting on thighs and legs.
Hearing crunchy sounds.
Breaded skin is ripped.
Tearing up the meat around the bones.
Excites me.
Tastiness of salt is also yummy.
Drink plenty of water after each piece.
Take my time chewing them.
For lasting pleasure.
© August 19, 2016 by Samuel Lee. Use with permission only.
This poem has fresh-koolade rating of junk with an appetite tease of food.
This puts the obesity level on a par with the Incredbile Hulk and King Kong.
lol Thank you for reading and commenting on my poem.