By D. A. Angelo
The Mona Lisa got bored of her painting prison and decided to get a job in McDonald’s. She cooed at the tsunami curls of the McFlurries. Inhaled the burger smells like they were the finest frankincense wafted around a cathedral. Basked in the warm cave of the French fries getting ready for serving. She sang lullabies to the apple pies and pretended to be a school teacher to the chicken nuggets. Every customer reminded her of Da Vinci’s warmth and she cherished those moments. At the end of her shift, she enjoyed a double cheeseburger and fries, smiling as she ate every bite. Sometimes the smallest of things can mean the entire universe.
D. A. Angelo (they/them) is a UK-based poet with work in Flights, Literary Yard, Rabid Oak, Bluehouse Journal and several other journals. New work is forthcoming in Petrichor Mag, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Moss Puppy, The Amazine and Skipping Stone Review.
