Supermarket

At the Supermarket

You don’t see peanuts plucked

out of the ground; leaves hanging

clustered flowers twisting

into pineapples

peeling tree barks scraped

for cinnamon

In the Supermarket

looking at that chicken breast

suffocated in plastic

You don’t see the fatigued factories

caged fowls

drowning in their own filth

Walking down Supermarket aisles

You don’t see the stale

cornfields

uniform piss-yellow

pulverized into

high-fructose syrup

hidden in the fine print

Shopping at the Supermarket

You don’t see the blood

of corporations

deflowering nations

to cement republics of

malnourished brown bodies

growing bananas at gunpoint

As I look on

the protests at the Supermarket

vegans preaching

organic farms, plant-based meats

I don’t see the CEOs

profiting from green packaging

I don’t see the McDonald’s

planted across every continent

All I see is the plastic

that covers their eyes

the only farms they see

are on the TV screen

I’ve seen chickens butchered

their necks sliced

thrashing about in the bin

I’ve picked out fish

swimming in tanks

brought out to the table

over a fire and bathing

in a pool of soy sauce

I see your disgust

as you toss out

chicken feet

goat intestines

pig trotters

fish heads

You refuse to confront

the nature

the life and death

of the food packaged

for your conscience

tell me again how your diet

is going to save the world

when you can’t even tell me

where your food came from.

Editors' Note

“PC language” exists for a reason

Explore the magazine