Poem by Matthew Augustine

Food Magazine Models

Picked perfectly ready for the customer
Not the worst, but please remember
I am no different alone, not worse or better

But the last kale people think they’re scraping the barrel
Yet I taste just fine and I am no less sterile
You can find me friends to make me “edible”

Free to be picked, free to be eaten
My taste has my appearance beaten
Two versus One, only a little “misshapen”

My fate is doomed, the rot will grow
Given to no one, and no one will know
That I am fine, but into earth I will go

They are hungry, meals here for everyone
But the time and money are gone
So here these feasts will constantly spawn

Thanksgiving, for a hundred children
Subsidies are the only thing missing
Given this we can help, this problem isn’t hidden
​

Look at the faces of those who hurt
Ask them how much a meal is worth
Please help those, this system has birthed

Matthew is a student at Oregon State University.