Humans of Capitalism
I hate the way that produce smells
the sick organic sent that
penetrates your mask and
sticks to the back of your throat
even after you're long gone
so that everytime you swallow
you're reminded of half expired
oranges, peaches with
just a whisper of mold,
tomatoes that are comparable
to hackysacks.
It remains and
lingers along with the
vivid image of poverty stricken
families in their beat up
cars packed high with
papers and trash
who try to finagle their
way into recieving just one more
bag of half-rotten
hackysacks so that they might
feed their families
a bit more.
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