Eat Your Vegetables

Who gets to define perfection?

Blueberry eyes, peach complexion,

Strawberry lips, pear hips,

Only room for the sweetness of ripe fruit?

 

Broccoli deserves a place too

On the porcelain plate of perfection.

Asparagus arms and green bean legs

With onion kneecaps and snap pea finger nails

Combat the sugar-induced stomachache

That’s sure to follow from too much perfect.

 

Imperfection is the profession

Of all the however many billion

That tread across the jagged earth

With heavy heals that dig invisible holes

Through the secretly crumbling soil.

But what wouldn’t crumble

Under the weight of the interminable pursuit

Of sappy, servile perfection?