When was the last time
You had to clear the slaughter’s slime?
The barn calls out for food and grime,
Cleaning up the cow’s hide
To fill the freezer space,
Waiting for dinner’s grace,
Remember leaning over in hours bent
Pulling weeds in growth’s intent,
To vegetate the lettuce, celery and rice,
Carrots, potato, roots to boil
In winter’s cold and ice,
Waiting in cold storage bins? Nice!
Now, in packed up spaghetti to go,
Round and round and round,
The clock no longer full in farming time,
As I sit down when dinner’s served,
No shopping or chopping
In preparation I find,
Only taste in hunger’s inspiration.
Even then, wanting good
From food that blindly grows,
Nobody knows.
My body eats itself into the sleep,
Walking in luxury’s dream,
Don’t even have to keep the kitchen clean.
Bacon didn’t remember the swine,
Hamburger no longer the cow,
Don’t even clean the rice,
I just chomp my jaws in what tastes nice,
Distracting my mind
In chewing’s haste,
Filling my gut in a longer belt . . .
It’s so nice to celebrate life
By eating out.
Who’s the cook?
Whose on the farm
And in the fields?
How did I get so lost,
And found,
In the fruits of earth
Before they enter my mouth
And ignore the things
In the barns left behind?
Crack an egg,
Pluck a chicken,
Kill a lamb,
Skin a pig,
Ham it up,
Eat the meat,
In protein’s heartbeat dead,
Crunch salad’s cabbage head,
Drink the wine,
Forget the grapes,
Didn’t have to hunt to find.
What’s on the table to dine?
“Thank God I don’t have a barn!”
“Excuse me?”
“Please pass me the salt”.