unpublished poem by a youth from Larkin Street Youth Services
*typos and capitalization are [sic]
Food is delicious
Food makes me fat
Food is good
Some have too much
Others have too little
I've even met those who have the perfect amount.
In the cabinets
slimmering on stove
raw in plastic packaging
moldering under the couch.
Food. Hey, you guys want some food?!
How do you like yours?
Out of the can.
How about you?
I like it free, my man.
Holocaust victims were deprived of it.
Mardi Gras revelers in France indulged in it.
Spilled it on the ground,
while children cried to be fed
seeing cakes and sweet meats trampled
beneath the rich people's feet.
I hate using cash to get it,
Food Stamps are preferred.
People love it during Christmas
and shun it after New Year.
"Lose those holiday pounds!" Magazines skriek post-Thanksgiving.
"Feed the children!"
"There's starving people in Africa!"
Not ALL, parts, dummy. Africa is a continent.
Binging, purging,. Tasting, dining. Salvia glands prepare you.
Hot or cold, my dear? Ice cram man in the summer, soup man in the winter.
Pick your poison, baby.