A Broiler (R) Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

Food is carefully placed inside our mouths, hits by teeth on particles then racing down long tube walls; swirling kits trace items into fits, dissolving with others, and then tumbling in a pot.

Treats that enter our bodies are captured in tubes, squeezed under pressure into cubes, placed with a set of digested factors, eaten: form toxic concoctions mixed with acids, filling up spaces and forming lubes.

Once inside, factors cook quickly in infusion, revolving portions, altering and erupting; submitting giant gases, dissolving all fragments exploding in soup: evolving elements that run our system like a car.

We must make efforts to control what feeds into our bodies; state that's enough; cut back upon those trust items, bust those in ills that hurt: improve our lives, our health.

Yet at those times of discomfort, goods are put over stuff; yell, eat things out, erupt boiler delights, corrupt the whole system, disrupt the inner parts: free mire or a loud fart.