Haibun: My Food

Looking up at the inedible nuts growing on the palm tree, out of reach I realized how far removed I am for so much of what I eat. I am thousands of miles from the food that ends up trucked passed me to wait for me to pick it, the unpicked left to rot. I start to ponder: ‘What food did the soil give to my food? Who’s daughter or son turned this from part of the plant to now part of my meal? Were their hands paid justly or were they owned by debt?’

But then the life I choose to live—the life society says I need to live in order to be found acceptable—demands I become to busy to care and to look at my phone as I chew.


palm trees growing fruit:
autumn’s orange loot, up high.
faux desert bounties 

& Haiku: Orange Loot