Produce breathes life into labor.
Decayed cauliflower wins no hearts.
Take that price tag off my skin.
I live only in consumer memory.
Inventory cannot define me.
Customer satisfaction disgusts me.
I am a shadow, bought and sold,
an old bargain looking for a sucker.
My s.k.u. is like a prison tattoo,
defining me in swapmeet hell.
Do not be fooled by my torn package.
Bring me home: the kids will love me.
Eat me whole, or broken into parts.
Surely you’ve seen me on t.v.
I once was placed this close to Barbie.
That’s not dust on my aged package,
but a roadmap of fondled memories.
Don’t put me down now, lover.
Now that I’ve kissed your fingerprints
forever.