The New Food Movement invited me to dinner,
As it often does, to discuss politics.
I was very hungry, and hoped for a banquet.
The evite conjured urban farms and rooftop gardens,
Little heads of lettuce grown without soil,
Nourished by plastic streams of water
Circulating the droppings from tilapia.
I love tilapia. It tastes like whatever it’s cooked in,
Like some aquatic tofu, but with texture.
The New Food Movement talked about P-patches,
Family farms, community-supported agriculture,
Permaculture, monoculture, enzymatic culture,
The culture of community and family under attack
When we trust assembly lines to make the meals
Served at bread lines to former farmers.
The New Food Movement wants us to get to work,
Wants dirt in our nails and land in our bones,
Wants children to know where food is grown,
Wants everyone to be a farmer. Skyscrapers cascade
Grapevines and condos cultivate arugula in
The world of the New Food Movement.
But I’m hungry now and the New Food Movement
Serves only stale rhetoric. The salad is made of leaflets
The entree is a cold serving of revenge. I can’t starve myself
As I wait for this bountiful future, so I stuff myself
On chicken nuggets and Round-Up resistant corn flakes.
My stomach is full, but somehow I feel like
I’m still going hungry.