McDonalds

An embodiment, a larger-than-life clown
Who sells happiness, in Scottish chunks,
– After all it is of the McDonald clan – 
Which like the kilt, emboldens the pleats
Of one’s tummy, the tyres,
That when stacked as concentric rings,
Makes a child or a grown man,
A little heavier around the waist,
And perhaps quite obese.
Still, how can I not be exhilarant,
When I see how one single bite,
Into the trinity of meat, wheat and mayonnaise
Can manifest to a childish heart,
The essence of how miniature in form,
Happiness is. Those nuggets
And burgers that once were a part
Of a chicken or bull, now stand
Flatter than a pancake, making
Inroads to where it all melts, on the tongue,
Where legends rave of how a little Scottish conviction,
Which like the Loch Ness monster,
Has made a legend stick,
Sculpting a yardstick in fast food,
Of an American invention
Bigger than golf, merrier than bagpipes,
Commonplace as thistles,
More relevant than the Catholic church,
And just like Sean Connery,
Carries the license to kill the rumble,
Inside a child’s tummy.