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Shopping at Whole Foods

Don't get me wrong ... I love Whole Foods and shop there when I can afford it. Food marketing drives me up the wall, though, and the cries of "fresh", "artisan", "house-made", and "all-natural" from every box & package are a little much.

This poem is only published here.

The word "Organic" is spelled out in colorful leaves on a black background.
Photo by Bethany Szentesi on Unsplash

Shopping at Whole Foods

I'll have the celebration toffee and Christmas nuts to start,

with sugar-free caramel-crusted kidney beans.

And please pass the butternut-honey glaze

so I can rub it on this quivering ham. The lucky pig

was raised vegan, petted often, and hand-fed

Pacific hemp pollen-pitted flower silk.

The steaming soup is a communion cup

of compassionately-formed alphabet letters

in italic font. The brown rice cheddar bunnies

are winter-blended and hopped up with sea salt.

The chef has finished the pie crust, under which

a lovely jam-infused breakfast sausage

nestles in its bed of cinnamon rice. Remember,

I only eat oysters if their meat has a hint of plum

and they're harvested humanely in mermaid country,

where every Honey Crisp I crunch drips oil of myrrh,

is mountain-grown, shot with veins of edible gold,

and plucked like an angel's harp

played for me while I sip and suck—

oh scent, oh smoke, oh whiskey and white peppercorn.

Lemon me delirious, fresh-bake me.

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