No Special Orders

He's says he's allergic,

advises the head

with half-lidded eyes

“you do it, I’ll die”

but she’s no fool,

she knows the rules.


It's only egg and oil and water,

no way it will end his days,

so on American cheeseburger

and garlic French fries
the mayonnaise stays.


My husband HATES mayonnaise; whenever he's ordering his western bacon cheeseburger he tells the sweet young thing behind the counter that he's allergic. I love the stuff; would slather it on anything. I wrote this poem in response to the "mayonnaise challenge" posted by The drawing came from, and the artists names are on the label.


"I'm allergic" is such a

"I'm allergic" is such a super excuse. It fits just about everything, doesn't it? Fill out this survey - I'm allergic to ink. Take out the trash - the plastic bags make my hands break out - I'm allergice. What? Another form to fill out? Can't do it - allergic to stress.


Actually, though I do NOT indulge anymore, the whole point of ordering the western bacon cheeseburger was that it was one of the only ones that NEVER had mayo!

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