By Brian Le Lay
i will not talk to anyone who isn’t vegan,
because the air coming from his/her mouth
may have been in contact with a dead cow
and that air could float into my mouth
and i could be a contributor to the suffering
of another being.
someday i will have
grocery lists make immortal poems now.
one cucumber, tomatoes on the vine,
a bunch of bananas. say what you mean
in as few lines as possible
without actually saying what you mean,
merely allude to the meaning
by juxtaposing two unrelated images
without bridging the gap.
(i.e. i saw you today walking between traffic,
along the dashed lines.
i went home and smashed my piggybank
on the pavement and bought an elephant.)
you take yourself too seriously, maaaan…
please read my poems.
before entering a room
i ask, “is this doorknob vegan?”
before throwing a piece of bread
to a scattering of pigeons
at a public park, i ask,
“Are those pigeons vegan?”
before placing a rose on
my mother’s coffin, i ask
“were any animals harmed
in the carving of that wood?”
i reject everything,
a bundle of scallions,