In other Anacrusis-tangent news, I’m happy to report that Holly threw my gauntlet right back in my face and did, in fact, prove me wrong. I reprint her story-poem here, with her permission, to keep it from getting lost to the winds of LJ-feed comment rot:
The Burger King is fat with youth,
With adolescent pageantry,
With shining eyes revealing truth.
He’s fifty-two; unagingly
He lounges over golden thrones
With adolescent pageantry.
Unwrinkled cheeks, uncreaking bones;
But nothing sinster to dread.
He lounges over golden thrones.
No bloody baths, no gingerbread.
He chargrills souls to golden brown
But nothing sinister to dread.
Adorned with shining paper crown
His sceptre’s high; his forehead clear;
He chargrills souls to golden brown
And swallows them with ginger beer.
The Burger King is fat with youth,
His sceptre’s high, his forehead clear
With shining eyes revealing truth.
