Consume
Feed those eyes on multicolored delicacies
arrayed like parade floats stuck in a box
of cold and glass.
Feed the fingers, too,
that, grease-covered, rip through skin
and flesh to pluck the prize from dry bones--
And a smile will feed the ego, attentive
greetings and waiting hands to swirl
and serve, to nod and make the whims
of stomach acid alive and sealed in paper
or plastic--
And those above-all-else egos
will feed the waste bin when carelessness
claims yet another ladleful of soup, or,
unwanted, a small container of grilled chicken
waits near the salad dressing until paid
arms can sacrifice it to the waiting trash.
Consumption fills the air, drives all motion,
plays both gravity and God, even until the end
when the dishwasher gets the last pick
of congealed cheese pizza.
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