Aisles of Death, a poem about the food-industrial complex, by Alan Zoltie

Walking slowly along each row, tempted

Severely tempted

Picking up cartons, bottles and cans

Unable to read words that have more than 12 letters

Technical terms, perhaps scientific

Certain of one thing

This is an aisle of death

Desperate for goodness

Wholesome sustenance severely lacking

Remembering childhood days of homely cooking

Simple times

Nutrition and taste, even size, so different

Advancements for the worse

Seeking anything that may be natural

Frightened, indeed terrified at complicated labels

College degree now required to shop

Deathly ingredients

Mass-produced to suit convenience

Body aching for just one item of normality

Unable to come to terms with choices

Consumed by a fear of ignorance.

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