Howard Firkin
I shaped my flints. I lived in caves as well.
I helped to leave them full of bones and art.
I knew the secrets no one has to tell
and learnt my kind’s pre-history by heart.
I worshipped if I didn’t understand.
But now I cover everything in Glad Wrap
and put it in the fridge to keep it fresh.
My food pre-processed—can’t tell meal from crap,
alive from dead, the spirit from the flesh.
My god is tofu—cultured, smooth, and bland.
No eagle, ibis, sparrow, pardalote…
They live to prey, to harvest, forage, scrounge…
Acceptance steals its fingers down my throat
and leaves me eating Twisties in the lounge.
I helped to leave them full of bones and art.
I knew the secrets no one has to tell
and learnt my kind’s pre-history by heart.
I worshipped if I didn’t understand.
But now I cover everything in Glad Wrap
and put it in the fridge to keep it fresh.
My food pre-processed—can’t tell meal from crap,
alive from dead, the spirit from the flesh.
My god is tofu—cultured, smooth, and bland.
No eagle, ibis, sparrow, pardalote…
They live to prey, to harvest, forage, scrounge…
Acceptance steals its fingers down my throat
and leaves me eating Twisties in the lounge.
