Sonnet #232

Would you sacrifice your life for gas

station burritos? Someone did. They bled

with all their friends and lovers dead

And carved into pieces, saran-wrapped, passed

into machines; also every bean contained

the possibility of flowers, the hope of mothers

Every kernel, stalk of green, all other

pieces of this tepid slab had holiness

This is why to make food poorly is a sin:

Oh, Life! What did these beautiful ones die for?

If we must kill to live, let us honor those done in

Who gave their children for our children, nor

should we allow the hungers quotidian

to permit us to forget how death’s head roars

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