Processing People For Food Poem by James McLain

You knew it was going to come down to this.
Processing People
you knew for food to feed your needs.

Children you knew, mixed with your parents.
Here where bacon and beef
go to those politicians whom claim that you
put them in office.

Northern missionaries, that work tirelessly to
feed those southern lofty mouths.
Wet microbursts of moisture, dehydrated flesh
flash frozen, for other's
there is yogurt,
though without milk there remains a certain question?


Pretty girls grown dumb, have procreated to feed you.
You will eat the smart ones,
without question the need to live outweighs
those moral questions, unpronounceable lost in time
some few short decades past.

We pay homage to those same corrupt politicians
who we now pay,
to watch them eat what others never will.
Paying to watch them eat
a bacon, lettuce and tomatoe sandwich with large
dollups of mayonnaise.

Living each day, from dawn to dusk,
giving no thought as to how you came to be
on the menu, the preceding day.

Don't fall in love with me, I might not
be able to satisfy your few basic needs.
I can sense that certain fatal attraction.