BREAKING NEWS – CHIPOTLE IS ROBBING ITS CUSTOMERS!
This delicious ice-cream scoop of guacamole,
A bite so sacred—so holy,
“More, please” of brown rice,
And perhaps another spoonful would also suffice.
Begin with a burrito, or maybe a bowl,
Or a quesadilla, the cheese pure gold.
When they ask you,
“Choice of protein?”
Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Everything please, and add some black beans!”
Fingers pointed,
Eyes dilated,
“Just a little bit more of that steak,
Or the smallest dollop of queso–for my sake?”
The foil barely wraps ‘round the bowl,
The burrito puts you in a chokehold,
And how could you possibly forget about the chips on the side?
“Salsa or guac?”
“…Both?” You respond, “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Big-back,” the eyes of the cashier say,
But hey–
It’s your lunch break!
The cashier rings up your order,
“Nineteen, seventy five, please.”
What?! You’re no hoarder,
But you snatch the card back as you lunge,
“Are you sure there’s no chance of a refund?”
“No.”
Your paycheck cannot hold up your stomach,
Your intestines gurgle, you’re feeling flummoxed.
Fingers trembling,
Eyes a-shaking,
You hand over the money that they are taking.
The salsa no longer has that spark:
The rice no longer warm,
The corn no longer sweet,
The steak no longer tender,
The cheese no longer melted,
Your stomach no longer hungry.
Chipotle, we beg you, a call to action.
Have you no shame?
Your prices have raised three fractions.
CEO, I urge lower prices.
Stop cheapskating,
Don’t be greedy,
Feed us, the poor and the needy,
Lower prices for one! Lower prices for all!
Or I’m afraid I must ask— “Where is the nearest McDonalds?”
Thirty-six dollars for a picture with Santa?
I distinctly remember standing in line,
blinded by the ornaments of the Christmas tree
Being urged along in the center of the mall,
And I hear ol’ Santa say—
“Quite the haul!”
“Quite the haul?” Quite the haul?
Why, my tiny excuse for a brain as a second grader
Did not bother to question,
The ominous meaning that was in the mall.
The big man of red, they say.
Prepares all day with his elves,
From Dec 26 to Dec 24, “more, more, more!”
The toys are wiped off the shelves,
The children are in a frenzy of Christmas heaven,
And Santa with his ‘beer belly’ filled with eggnog and cheer
Hugging the children
Both far and near.
But under the gold buttons of his suit,
The shining exterior of his smile,
The glisten of his black boots,
There waits a paid, young college man with a beard slapped on his face who needs to pay his tuition,
Or an old 76 year old grandfather who needs some cash (they take credit cards too).
Back when I was young,
I sat on his lap, told him what I wanted,
And took a picture.
The moment lasted simply 2 minutes,
But it was worth it.
The hit,
The figure,
Was right there in front of me.
But tiny little me
Could not see the strings of his fake beard
Wrapped around his face.
The same man that went down our chimneys,
That ate our cookies,
The reason behind our wreaths,
He was there.
But as I look at Santa in a new light,
He’s not a gift-giver, but a robber in suit.
Sneaking in the middle of the night,
And while we pay him,
I have never once seen a gift from Santa.
Today I walked in the mall again.
The same ornaments, the same tree, but different me.
That’s when–
“Thirty-six dollars for a picture with Santa?”
Since when has Santa been one to take,
Not give?
Since when was he one to rake
The money from our pockets?
Wall street,
A wolf in disguise,
Within our local mall,
And all the snow melt from the heat,
For we were all caught under Santa’s demise.
And even there as I stood,
Staring at the christmas tree,
A line all willing to pay the heart-attack of a fee.
Our blinded parents,
Our gullible souls,
There in Santa’s eyes,
There was black coal.
I suppose one could argue it was ‘for the Christmas spirit,’
A harmless photo, they say.
But I will forever question,
For a hefty thirty-six dollars, where does he go Christmas day?