Saturday, December 1, 2012

Raquel Reyes-Lopez
Food for Thought
Dear Wal-Mart consumer
who calls themselves a pet owner.
How dare you mock me,
be so ignorant, not glance
at my history, or take note
of my hundred thousand
years of existence on this world.

I am a feline; I have thrived
off of mice, bugs, and birds.
Yet you have the nerve
to feed me dry food
Red 40, Blue 3, Yellow 5
that’s slowly riddling me with disease.

Each scoop you pour
in my petty fish shaped bowl
is the growth of a tumor,
the mutation of my cells,
or damage to my genetic structure.

You play with my emotions
a fish shaped bowl with no fish
just Hell’s dry food.

I blame you.

For trying to take care of me
when you can’t take care of yourself.
Plastered in front of a T.V. screen,
cracking open your midnight beers,
damaging your organs,
but bringing me down with you
as you make mine suffer.

I am hungry!
Hungry to evolve
back to what I used to be,
but you and your poison
has kept me stunted.

I condemn you to yourself
as I sit next to you
watching as you spiral yourself through
Netflix oblivion of Halloween films,
with your T.V. dinners,
right next to your never ending list
of resolutions you never achieved
in your 20’s, and sure as hell
won’t accomplish in your 40’s.

So put a cape on me and laugh
at how allegedly cute I look in this.
Hand misinformed children
candy bars that’ll lead to diabetes.

I’ll have the last laugh
when you kill yourself from alcohol poisoning.

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