The kale bunches, thick-skulled and Germanic,
Green as envy. Eight dollars, ninety-nine
For what Aurelia pulled free
From Wellesley soil. I buy three bundles of virtue
That will blacken like the bell jar.

The Greek yogurt cultures multiply,
Multiply in plastic tombs, $7.99 each,
Promising civilizations in my gut
I will never achieve.
I am thirty. My microbiome is dead, dead.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard,
Even your sauerkraut had more probiotics.

The cashier, blonde as butter,
Asks if I found everything okay.
Everything? EVERYTHING?
I found nothing but seventeen types
Of artisanal bread, each crust
More pretentious than my Ariel manuscript,
But I crave, I crave Wonder Bread
Like Otto’s love.

At checkout: $247.83 for enlightenment.
The receipt unfurls like my death certificate —
Three bundles of superfood kale
That will rot, rot
While I eat Pop-Tarts in my bathrobe.

————

Chris Turner is an award-winning writer of humor, horror and comic books. Upright Citizens Brigade trained in improv/sketch/stand up. Contributor to Points in Case, Slackjaw, Frazzled, and more. @christurneronline