The Perils of Eating

Not this but that, not what crept 
along the ground but perhaps what grew 
on a vine or on a tree. Not what can't be 
peeled or skinned, not what has furrows 
and bumps where pathogens might 
have burrowed and hid. We stand 
in the frigid air of the grocery store, 
unsure of what we can take into 
our bodies, wondering what the next 
recall will be. Now we are suspicious 
of lettuce and kale, spinach embalmed
in plastic clamshells. Rinsing won't be
enough to banish the germs waiting
to breach the body's defenses. Once
inside, they'll sprint unseen through 
its network of tiny roads leading 
to the stomach, the spleen, the heart. 
The apples in the bin wear their brightest 
and waxiest smiles. Cuts of meat gleam 
in their trays, red as berries and marbled 
with fat. Any of them could lodge in our 
throats on the way down, before they
even have a chance to wring us dry.