(a postcard poem)
I need to get to farmer’s market soon
or my vow to eat
t only ethically raised and slaughtered
livestock shall yield to my inner carnivore’s
desires for flesh now.
Today, if anyone on the town green sells meat
or Saturday in Amherst (where I might go
to see her anyway if we can get it all ironed out),
or as a last resort, Tuesday before dance
at the gym.
I’ll consume a pair of boiled eggs
and the last of my edamame salad,
because it’s time to consume and I don’t
want anything to spoil. Such waste
disrespects the starving.