The Blue Moon Review

Eaten
by John Kusch

	600 dolphins wandered or were
	driven into a shallow
	inlet near Meiwa village
	in coastal Japan     some
	of the dolphins were eaten
	by villagers     international
	conservationists were outraged

I.

when we're shopping
drunk, when Julia's skirts,
fruit basket bright, pantaloon
past my scarf, cilantro
green, we play
kick-the-kumquat, we duel
like buccaneers with bok choy;
with solemnity we lurch
down the dry cereal aisle,
humbled by the gallons of low-fat
milk all those Coco Puffs imply.

grocery list guzzled
away in a warm
bath of chianti, we are feeling
Italian, and I can't believe
the rotini and extra-virgin
olive oil are five aisles
apart.  Julia agrees: only a major
in business administration
could have separated egg noodles
and cream of mushroom
soup so thoughtlessly.
outraged, we ignore
the confetti of coupons
fluttering in our wake, the security
guard knows to make way, it's us
against the grocer as we scream
our accusation: everything
will be eaten!


II

from tofu to tears,
it's all been tasted
before, it's fed any
number of less
discerning palettes.  when each
nourished thing dies, the world
is eager, thinking: something
is possible.  a mayfly
croaks in the herb
garden and up come wings
of basil, parsley on delicate
legs.  the sea chews
death with its mouth
open, but think of the floating
families that thrive between
the gnashing: kelp
tough as floss, corals
clustered like taste buds.
eventually all flesh
melts away like chocolate,
our blood sours for the worms
like cream.  everything, everything
that is or does, will be
eaten, or already has.