Day One Hundred and Twenty One Thousand
Maybe the shine is off the apple
but the milk and honey oozing
from cracks in the sidewalk feels
sarcastic now. The choirs
of holy voices praising God
seem to be getting a bit flat.
My neighbors, at least two hundred
of them, brought me homemade meals
yesterday and I'm beginning to suspect
that some of them were just passed on.
It's hard to work up the motivation to eat
when you don't strictly need to, but
food waste is a sin and therefore unthinkable.
Nothing ever rots here either
so that's why, despite milk flowing
in the always-sunny street,
the world always smells fresh.
The smell of fresh milk mingled
with golden honey nauseates me now
but vomiting, too, is a sin.