Canned Soup

April 13, 2009
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Cambell's Chicken Soup cracks open with a creak like a mausoleum door

Oil splashes on your fingers but no smell greets your nose.

Cold, it is a cup of the ocean, stingingly salty,

Full of bits of unidentifiable flesh, choking under oil.

You can eat it in the kitchen, clacks and slurps echoing on linoleum,

Watching the window and telephone.

You can eat it on your dusty porch, adjusting the stair you sit on

Keeping up with the sun, aware of yourself and the ants.

You can eat it by television light, ignoring the taste, eating mechanically

Entertaining yourself the way you feed yourself- in the cheapest, easiest, and

Most mechanical way.


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