Deep Fried Oreos

Grew up obese in the decade before the next.

Always making fried wonders in the oil with the pancake mix,

always smearing the black and white ones up with the semisolid

and suffocating them with the opposite of water,

sharing with none and no one and nobody;

always stuffing the faces with fried fritters

that frankly featured freakishly unflattering levels of fructose.

Crematories packed with the living.

Each one with its canyons and crevices,

each one less nutritious than the last,

each one more debilitating than the first,

with their indentations of unadulterated grit,

the kind that seeps into the mother-laden bone of the predecessor’s streaks,

all of which, nude at the core, jolt indifference from the others

in the land of the unwanted members.

They used to coat the others’ bodies,

now, all that terminates breeds succession and invasion

from calorie induced chaos to dollars and change

dripping from pockets onto my sugary street.

     - J. A. Kind