Poems of stuff.

Hi.

I've been sitting on this poem for quite some time and think it might be (somewhat) finished (if that's possible). So here you go. There's at least one more in the wings so we'll see how it goes.

Reduced for Quick Sale
by Pjamms

My soul weeps
from muscle tissue

Fingers drip
self sauce
with gravitational force
pooling it in
the supermarket floor drain

en route to the sewer

as I open
the gleaming metal freezer door

discovering
the rich Latin American
culinary heritage
of my departed abuelita

Reduced

to a litho print
complete with smiling toucan
on the back of a box
of frozen taquitos

made with love
by a robot
in New Jersey.