To the restaurant that doesn’t serve bacon after noon

Fuck you

Who are you to confine bacon to a box that’s not Styrofoam to keep my bacon hot for me to take home

You are the same forces of evil behind happy hour

I don’t need a certain time slot to be happy

I have joy as long as a drink is in me

You cannot control the amounts of alcohol that I choose take in

And when

Just as you can’t regulate quality time with my new delicious friend

Or even begin to understand the lust, the trust the faith I have in

bacon