Picasso at McDonald’s  

super size my eyes--let the glare
of Pablo’s dead desires
burn my retinas, and  
indelibly engrave the golden arches
behind my drooping lids
they will be my rainbows,
with pots of dreams
to order at each end  
and fast food prophesies
slickly sliding down yelling yellow loops
through the endless blue sky    
inside your hallowed halls
the chopped souls of Guernica  
are invisible to our eyes
their stillborn screams don’t reach our ears
but their torment will be assuaged
by a Big Mac and large fries  
they will no longer hear
the shrill whistle
of the German’s falling shells  
the laughter of the children at play  
or the other sinking sounds
that get us through the day