Food Poetry

i have food on my brain

and in my shirt and up my pant leg

i have recipes falling out my car 

when i open the door

i have pots and pans in my closet

and spoons and forks in my underwear drawer

i am burning toast in my sleep

and eating breakfast in the shower

my sink is full of macaroni

and the fridge has not an inch to spare

there is no reason 

to trust a skinny chef

and i swim in braising liquid

brush my teeth with cheese and

wash my face with cucumbers

my home is made of ginger bread

and my paycheck can't be cashed

as it is made of bacon

the bank just won't cash my bacon

fucking bastards

can't they see i don't need this food

i have too much as it is

give me a little green

and i will give you pancakes

my table legs are celery

and the light bulbs are yellow squash

melons, zucchinis, strawberries,

eat it and stick it

and play with it

i filled my gas tank with olive oil

and washed the windows with vinegar

my couch is all sausage and

my tv screams rack of lamb

how do i escape this grocery store

that has become my life

i suppose i must renegotiate

and put it all to good use

come over here and play with my

banana.