Dec 10, 2006
The market
Going for the peppers and the corn,
You don't mind that Pinochet is dead.
It's all too clear the tomatoes are out of season
But they keep appearing, believing
Hothouse, green house, Eurospray we eat them whole and ripe
Like we swallow so many lies of our government.
It's genetically modified, perfectly not organic you say?
Your soul feels half that wholeness,
All the goodness cooked good and through.
It's winter and all the vegetables are a perfect red and green,
A miracle to our civilization, a hubris to our fading time.
The roots and cavasas are waiting to be rescued from the bins,
And you oblige because you can't stand their screams.
You show mercy and take them to a quiet place.
The leafy greens are shimmering with molecules of water,
Each surface a kaleidoscope of nature's pride. We take it all in,
We give no thanks, we make no blessing, we are consumers,
Fine and smooth inside, ready to bleed on the outside.
They say we are evolving like the pears and the peaches,
Digesting lactose we still need a holiday from ourselves.
We are too far mesmerized by the hype, the media making us dull.
Such abundance saved from the heat of the seasons, and
Nature now our bride through the market.
She is singing at our glimmer of awakening, through the lost garden,
Patient, generous, and forgiving.
