A buck ninety-nine.

If you pull up to the

Window at 32^nd and Rose

And order something cheap but good

With a tad more fat than you know you should

Have but secretly crave,

Make sure to tell them to make it a value meal,

And they’ll wrap her in whole wheat lace

And stick extra magnums in your bag

Along with the tomato lube and honey Dijon.

When you get her home

And the smell of her leaking juices is so pungent —

Intoxifying —

That you can put aside your

Moral concerns about the hormone-injecting slaughterhouse

She came from,

Devour her

Under the black light

So you can count the other spilled seeds on her ass

And delight in knowing you’ve bought a piece of

High quality meat.

Don’t think the fat cow beneath you

Flashing her neon nails

And wielding her branded tits

Could possibly take you as her victim.