Stuff

July 22, 2008
By Laura Fixman, Toronto, ZZ

The mountainous plate of food taunts.
He can’t get through it fast enough.
Burger, pizza, chicken, coke.
Would you like fries with that?

Super size and cram more in.
Fill the pit that goes straight to hell.
The emptiness that is his stomach,
And his heart.
Tasting nothing, wanting more.
He consumes until he can take no more.
Not just food, other products call to him too.
Bigger is better, biggest is best.
Had enough yet?
That’s not even a thought.
More, more, more, that’s all he wants.
A life and diet of excess,
Not like that can hurt much, right?
The food enters the vacuum, without an impression.
It happens quickly, like lightening.
It’s a dangerous obsession.
Still more he devours, until like a volcano, an eruption.
This heavenly hell will be his destruction.
Nothing is given, like a chipmunk he hoards.
Until after one day of consumption, the inevitable.
Death.
Nothing but a bloated corpse, on a journey with no end.
He leaves nothing, but is surrounded with stuff.
Like miniature hills he leaves piles of stuff.
We all know the stuff was never enough.



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