by Than Pence
A Burger King poem: this one is about the perception of voice.
|There’s a Troll in the Drive Thru. Troll at the box!
She’s probably hideous: like she might have a pox!
Oh, her voice, how it crackles and she’s probably few hairs.
People can hear me? I’ve run out of cares!
What do you want, you degenerative Troll?
What can I get you in my subservient role?
While I don’t pay attention to what you might want,
Let me clarify the irony of the situation you flaunt:
You’re most likely disgusting. Hideous to boot.
Trolls belong in fantasies, assaulting pilgrims for loot.
You’re hair’s probably stringy and face covered in boils.
You are most likely shiny thanks to your body oils.
I see you as a Troll, yet it’s you that I serve.
You drive up in your Cavalier and express quite the nerve
Over the fact that I have to sell you this food.
If I did so otherwise, I’d get reports that I’m rude.
But no, I’m not rude. Not to someone that counts!
My, what a strange order. Can you pay the amount?
Of course you can, vile Troll. You make money at the bridge!
It’s there where you work, charging tolls. Just a smidge.
Now that I’m through talking, I can embrace the peace
That I won’t see you for some minutes. Other people to please.
It’s the people before you that I choose to cherish.
They ordered normal things. Perhaps you should perish?
When you finally pull up… I receive quite a shock.
You’re no Troll at all. Was it you that I mocked?
Yes, the voice matches nicely but the face is… quite fare.
And you only smile. In this Drive Thru, not a care.
Paying with correct change, your smile’s so sweet.
The stereotype I put upon you, you easily defeat.
How could I think of you as an ass-ugly Troll?
How am I to weigh this experience on my soul?
I’m dumbfounded but hand out your food in a flash.
I can’t look you in the face so I rearrange my cash.
I’ve judged someone’s looks. Someone I couldn’t see.
And in doing so, I feel the real Troll might be… me…