Cheeseburger Lost (a Tragedy)
Written by Nicholas Strange (January 2014)
I.
Melancholic verse has oft been written
When a soul is with sadness smitten.
When they keen and cry their sorrows
In prose lamenting hopeless morrows.
Yet none before in the world of men
Have put a tale like this to pen:
The subject is of a touchy kind,
A poor man’s dismal quest to find
Something to fill his empty frame
And his ceaseless hunger tame.
This, our tragic hero’s story
Is one of futile fleeting glory,
A treasure found, a treasure lost,
Happiness gained, but at what cost?
Mountains scaled and armies beat,
Coffee, crowds, and tired feet,
Everything! (Perhaps save murder)
Happened in quest for a cheeseburger.
Dear listener, steel yourself to core
Else, I beg you, hear no more
Of this tale, or its hero’s spiel--
Let his voice his fate reveal.
But if you feel in resolve strong,
Hear now this, his miserable song:
II.
Ronald! Dante! Thee I call down,
You Italian poet and greasy clown,
To light within me a beacon stove
And grant an ending to this ceaseless rove
Which called me out from house and bed
‘Cross arctic tundra, siren-lead.
And though no Virgil have I to guide me through,
I ask the two of you to do
What thou knowest best and vouchsafe me there
To that subterranean Devils’ lair,
Where, if legend’s words speak right
I’ll find delight this bleak and wintry night.
Dante, you through levels nine
By mentor lead with knowledge fine,
Of those labyrinthine tunnels’ route
(Though possessed you no Orphean flute)
Trespassed through the Stygian void and back:
On evening this grant me that knack!
McDonald, your garish grimace mammoth looms,
Like second sun beside the moon
And upon the sky’s most earthly edge doth wait:
Great patron of what might my stomach sate,
Let your giant footprints reveal directest lane
Towards paradise, and ease my belly’s pain.
III.
More perhaps I might have cried,
Had not the wind’s lamenting tied
My own in sorrow and volume’s might
As trudged I through relentless night,
Against mine enemy; that biting breeze
That stole my breath and froze my knees.
While ‘round my ears vile zephyrs flew,
I felt a pressing ailment grew:
As famine ravished felt mine gut,
On vittles soon I’d need to glut--
This thought was by that organ voiced
When with gibbering gurgles it rejoiced.
I, as some harrowed fox soon tires
Before the hounds, then soon expires
Felt too my strength was sapped and weakened
When from the darkness something beaconed!
An oasis from fairest heaven snatched,
Though distant still, in sight at last!
One more mountain between us sat,
But my aching feet had walked their last--
Collapsed I at the summit's base,
And in my shame, with hidden face,
In anger struck the pavement’s plane,
I found the strength to rise again!
Spurred on by terrible lion’s call
That sounded from my chiseled wall
Torpor faded as I ascended--
My hellish march it seemed was ended!
And true seemed all those gipsies’ stories
When sighted I The Studio, in all its glories.
IV.
If history books in all their pages
Speak just of all of man’s past ages,
Wonders have in this world risen
(Though now resigned to history’s prison)
And the seven great feats of Ancients’ power
All before this place would cower;
That tomb of pharaoh’s last repose,
Of sandstone blocks to heaven rose--
Gardens shaped by Babble’s hand,
A verdant swath in desert land--
Even the Rhodes’ once proud giant stumbled,
All these wonders fell and crumbled.
But of all the glories now or passed,
The one I sighted none surpassed:
Its glassy portals offered scenes
That would haunt foul Tantalus’s dreams;
Golden ambrosaic splendor sprawled
Upon, within, behind those walls.
Of gateways, Heaven’s can’t compare,
To the celestial portal where,
Through I walked, excitement soaring,
Toward the golden light o’erflowing,
From the waiting treasure hidden--
Of glory such, from most forbidden.
But I was not alone, it seemed
That night to chase the pilgrim’s dream,
And venture out from foreign place,
To seek divinely sculpted taste--
For once within the entry’s breadth,
I found a horde of titanic depth
Had hastened too towards Vulcan’s grill,
To feast and frolic ‘till pleasures fill,
And I was at the faction’s tail--
Doomed! I seemed, in quest to fail
My meager dream of belly filled--
To muscle through would see me killed!
Long I paused amidst that swarm,
While my once-frigid bones soon warmed,
To hellish heat by press of rogues,
That slouched across all open roads
That I might try, in vain it seems,
To reach that font where pleasure teems.
While aside I pondered my next move,
To remain duressed or state improve,
By chance I glimpsed another room
To which I darted--and through the gloom
I saw I’d reached a deeper Hell--
One where caffeinated demons dwell.
The acrid scent of black, vile brew
Hastily mixed by frantic crew,
Assaulted my nose, and through watery eyes
I espied the devils that dwelt inside.
More abhorrent shapes I cannot detail
Than those I glimpsed--my senses fail
To do their fearsome countenances just
But try I shall, as try I must:
They were a ceaseless horrid throng
Who would riot if kept too long
Apart from that, their opium draught,
That once they got would greedily grasp
To thirsting lips and drain it dry
And in same gasp, “Another!” cry.
And those whose caffeine lust seemed sated
Lounged apart, like great deflated
Baboons or other hairy fiend,
Content to be by caffeine weaned
From daily stresses, woes, and troubles
While their alertness darkly doubles--
A symptom of that sinful drink,
Of which all the air did stink.
A devilish brew, though it might seem...
A new plan hatched, I poured a stream
Of scalding sickly sweet black beverage
Down parched throat and gained a leverage
At last! Over that crowd of foes
That blocked my way and caused my woes,
And while within me new strength surged,
into that maelstrom I converged.
With awful vigor I progressed
Against that horde that sought to test
My resolve and skill toward quest’s conclusion,
They had not bet on that dark transfusion:
Though stood they fast, as phalanxed corps
They could hold me back no more!
By mine elbows half their number
Fell into a fleeting slumber--
Yet twelve-score of their legion flocked
To path ahead, and again me blocked,
But strength like Atlas Heaven-Holder
Surged within my lowered shoulder,
And like when Moses split the sea--
The group in twain was cleft by me,
And I walked through as conquering king!
Ahead I heard the angels sing,
For I had reached that fabled promised land--
The sublimely crafted burger stand.
V.
Castaways on unknown shoals,
Would, if offered, trade their souls
For glimpse of ship or plane o’er-flying,
That might arrive to stall their dying,
And thirsty wanderers of deserts’ sand
Dream of ocean’s cooling hand,
And if these wonders might appear
They would fall to knees and cheer,
And thank their blessed higher powers
For those gifts, like manna showered
Upon their shoulders-- And yet their glee
Is nothing beside that felt by me.
Had angelic host descended
From heaven high? For those who tended
That mighty grill had godly mien;
Beauty such I had not seen
Outside marble’s sculpted joys
(That sculptor’s skillful hands employ).
Yet Renaissance masters can’t compare
To the edible marvels crafted there!
The deep-fat-fryer’s bubbling chortle
By pizza joined through oven portal,
A myriad of fizzing multicolored streams
From all the soda fountains gleamed!
Yet all these splendors were lesser fare
To the supreme treasure that called me there:
The Cheeseburger!--the closest man will come
To the paradise crafted by God’s thumb,
That cheesy snack by Vulcan forged,
Soon would be on what I gorged.
To the register I hastily flew
And from my pocket money drew--
With lightning speed the deal was made
And in a moment properly paid:
My order placed, and contented at last
I witnessed the burger’s components amassed:
A seraph armed with silvery spade,
With fire and the patty played
Upon the grill ‘til timer’s gong
Then held aloft that exquisite round,
Now with golden cover crowned.
Aside, another cherub chopped
The greens that would the burger top:
Tomato, Onion, Lettuce leaf,
Heavenly companions to cheese topped beef--
All these piled on ivory bread,
Where thin sheet of ketchup lay spread.
Their work completed, the spirits wrapped
The work in paper, with napkin capped,
And presented me that immaculate meal
So I might eat, and stomach heal.
Wasting no time, I eagerly went
And apart had I the wrapping rent
Revealing that glory, that reverent fare!
That of all beauties none compare!
I could hardly move, such was my state
Of disbelief of perfection on my plate,
I raised it upwards to the light,
And then leaned in to take a bite.
VI.
As that lofty meal ascended
It seemed to me like time suspended:
A second granted year’s duration
Such was that instant’s lofty station--
Yet . . . as it loomed larger in my sight
I sensed that something wasn’t right
And I then paused my hungry gesture,
Convinced that something vile festered
Within that, my entree splendid:
My awe for that base burger ended,
When under lettuce I spied the fickle
Seething splendor-ruining pickle.
When had it got there? Who would dare
To place reviled foodstuff there?
The nerve! The gall! The cheek! The brass!
To taint my meal with briny sass
Had angels worked the grill? No more!
No seraphs there, just pickled whores!
My stomach roared in indignation
For it had stayed the trip’s duration
In quiet sequestered patience waiting
For cheeseburger’s prowess in sedating
The hunger that within me raged--
No longer in my belly caged.
In disgust I threw that vile,
Horrid snack into a pile
And left it in The Bodega’s care,
For another sight I couldn’t bear.
And back into the night I went
To seek an ease for my torment.
So marched I up the staircase tower--
Within my room, with microwave’s power
I cooked a meal of godly bulk
With which I ‘round the lobby skulked:
I sated my hunger with food so common--
My belly filled by bowl of Ramen.
VII.
Havoc! Mayhem! Pain’s reward,
Are all within the pickle stored.
Heroes quests, like sandy fastness
All with time recede to blackness,
And Ramen’s gift may hold the tide
Of hunger’s ravaging aspect aside,
It’s boon is only temporary,
An inglorious sort, but necessary,
When glorious Cheeseburger’s gift is spurned--
It’s to that meal we now return.
When last we saw that sorry treat
It was flung down in defeat
And within the garbage lay
Heavenly even in decay.
But though our hero thought it base
What if someone else’s taste
Had espied its perfect state?
What might then have been its fate?
Could some athlete parched and hollow
Eaten it in single swallow,
Then found within themselves the power
To make a basket in the final hour
And take us to the Champion’s spot?
Well, maybe. But likely not.
Mayhaps someone with artsy clout
Had taken it up to figure out
The next David, or paint a Whistler’s Mother
Then spied that burger and had another
Better plan, and immortalized that treat
In stone, or paint, instead of meat
And from that piece gained fame and glory!?
Again, I offer a better story:
Maybe God who dwells on high
Took pity on how that burger lay,
And made it chief amongst the crowd,
That rules above on pearly cloud.
But who’s to say by what fate ended
That sublime and truly splendid
Cheeseburger after Hero failed
To taste its joys, though pickle veiled?
Rack your thoughts no more today,
For The Janitor probably threw it away.
