I ate crackers for dinner

When I chew the muscles
of cooked pigs
I imagine them in locked cages
chewing the grub
to please the hunger
they only knew,
their lives cold,



as the sterile blade that
lashes their throats.

Perhaps in this hunger
I cannot please
a cracker will do well
for the pigs–
wheat grown
from the solemn soil
and salt filtered
from the shallow sea.

With this dinner

I offer my repentance
to the world that used
to serve my stomach
and wait until
my pockets give
me the luxury
of turning my eye
from its pleas.

Poem No. 4 for this week’s poetry theme, “on summer I toil, on summer, I dream.”


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