IGNOMINY

 
In the cafeteria at Ikea, I’m writing today.
(It happens to be Independence Day.)
Pencil at ready, I sip superb coffee.
Smooth, delicious, and best of all, free.
Under my table on the polished concrete floor (it
Catches my eye— I couldn’t ignore it):
A french fry. Huh. Pristine and unassuming.
But greasy, salty, and soggy, I’m presuming.
From a two-year-old’s plate, intentionally ejected,
It lies there abandoned, so solitary, dejected.
This morning it enjoyed heights of glory divine,
Shouting, “Pick me!” in the Ikea food serving line.
On the floor near it are two bright green peas
Dreading, commiserating, sharing their unease.
With rising anxiety they anxiously await
Their humiliating demise— their undignified fate:
To be swept up, bagged, and trucked off in haste,
Then recycled quickly as organic waste.
 

Will Walsh