trap queen

there’s a 55-gallon steel drum out back,
not for music, no.
trap queen flips the fries, ice cold Cherry Cola,
haul off what builds up in the grease trap,
wave good-bye to mister manager.

in her travelling lab,
toss it with hydrochloric acid,
convert free fatty acids to esters.

sometimes she gets her hands on glycerin,
turn up the heat, 400 F,
walk away with biodiesel.

trap queen knows not waste.

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