The Pure Food and Drug Act

Grandad always made his bacon
from the pigs he raised on bacon.
Neighbors traded for it like peyote.
Mohammedan angels arrived in a fog.
Our dog quoted Basho. We were high on the hog.

Now frankenfoods gum up the fountains.
Things sure have changed on Walton’s Mountain.
The boozy monks to crunk have taken. Commies
quail before Robo-Reagan.

All I wanted was a Pepsi.
Crude oil creeps into my cummerbund.
Chaucer’s reinterpreted as notes
on corset latches, and opens number one.

BPAs vex my testicles, ladies.
I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout Smurfin’ no babies.
Goodnight, John-Boy. Goodbye, Ike.
In the cramped backseat, Elizabeth slides
her teenage tentacle down my cheek.

(First published in La Petite Zine)