The machine twists its head:
Bubbling, snarling and growling —
From the spoiled crust of capitalism’s yester-year
Rises a brown thing, an old thing;
Gnarled, broken, and barbed.
“Convenience is king,”
From the depths of women’s hearts:
An outpouring of emotional labour and guilt —
A push towards the light,
Bending over backwards,
For the planet.
In lieu of companies;
The thing rears its head and stares
Whites like plates
Blacks like pinpricks
Swallowing this world whole
Not for society, but for satiety.
Photo Credit: Adrienne Arzaga