The Produce Aisle
Like transfixed fans in segregated bleachers
Every fruit and vegetable observes the procession.
It’s like adoption day at the pet store
Old ladies and college students browse for their favorite
Seeking just the healthiest and finest breed.
Wilted lettuce and bruised apples are fated to remain.
Fruit flies, like vultures, peck at a starfruit corpse.
The shoppers, void of pity, have eyes only for luster.
Yet everyone has somewhere to go…
Predestined by condition and this month’s coupons.
Each is doomed
To rot or be devoured.
Here there is no love for the crippled.
A clumsy woman just dropped a tomato.
The wounded fruit bled seeds and juice
While an employee bent to lift it
And drop it in the trash.
The woman failed to offer any grief.
A ripe young tangerine is next
She moves in for the kill
It doesn’t stand a chance
They’re half off the regular price this week.
It’s going in her daughter’s lunch box tomorrow
Never to see the light of Cub Foods again.
~Emily K
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Ravenous is hosted on no-leverage.
