Ethical Dilemma of the Dented Cans

Walking, walking, walking, walking, Slower and slower and slower, And s-l-o-w-e-r, And s-s-l-l-o-o-w-e-r still. Barely moving... Eyes shut tight... Footsteps weaving... Intestines heaving... Racked by Hunger and Thirst, Thirst and Hunger, Hunger and Thirst: Woe is He and He is Woe; He'll die of Starvation, Unless his throat cracks first... ...Lost in a desert of endless sand, So many poets choose to end Such a tale without taking a stand, By terminating the protagonist's digestive gland. Perhaps they're not clever, Perhaps they're 'old school;' Ho, ho! Not me. I don't follow the rules... Now back to our poem, of which you're in the midst, Lost in that desert, When a snake hissed, And looking down on the ground, Our protagonist found, Two dented cans staring up at him Of Albacore Tuna, 'Starkist' no less, With a pop-top opener---unexpected largesse. O, ecstasy and agony rolled into one: There lay salvation, right on the ground, But for the USDA warning that made his head pound. You must never a dented can automatically trust, Check instead for bulging or bloating, for spraying or rust; A sign of bacteria---which into your system may bust. O, exquisite torture! What to do now? Examine those two dented cans? Or down the contents, warning be damned! The body says one thing; the soul another ...So, decide for yourself, dear reader, What he would do, if he were you.