Mortal hearts
Are its actual
Cause

But cooked
By pride
So easy

Thinking cupboards
Bare
Have utensils

Or ingredients
Bad
Sitting low

Could inspire chefs
Who play
God

Yielding dishes
Grand
Beyond saving

Growing ripe
Through tainted
Promise

Eating fruit
Sharing sin
Thought prayer,

Wielding wealth
On privileged
Spoons

Within palms
Whose fists
Bear weapons

Chewing whole
While mouths
Hang open

Begging food
Though forks
Point back –

Worried sick
True hunger
Is judged

Making meals
Much more
Disgusting

From the fact
Such lives
Should perish

Still begging
Those hands
For a piece.

Though they tighten
Around
Each neck

Choking throats
With freedoms
Rancid,

Revealed
As gluttonous
Hatreds

All monsters
Believe
Keep fresh

Since agreeing
Flesh
Left raw

Tastes better
Only
When hurting

If based
Upon recipes
Biased

Now stirring
Rage
In this pot –

Served hot
On plates
Absurd

Knowing fear
Holds their daily
Menu

Which proves
How heroes
Hungry

Wish villains
Would hurl
That feast.

– J. Pigno