Timothy Liu
Reciprocity
The chickens eat the ticks
in our neighbour’s yard.
We eat their eggs,
breasts, thighs, white
or dark meat all batter
fried. The goats eat
the poison ivy spreading
down the path that leads
to the boat ramp beside
a finger lake. We drink
their milk, eat their cheese,
make stew out of tough
meat. Do not call this
fair trade. My cock shrinks
at the thought, choking
on guzzled greenhouse
gasses. It’s 2022. We
have less than ten years
to make this right.
2222 seems impossible
to imagine. I should be
dead by 2052, 2062,
maybe a lot sooner if I
don’t change my ways.
Can somebody help me?
I want to stop eating
chicken, goat, tuna—
the Lebanese pound
trading at 27,000
to the dollar on the black
market—white and blue
collar workers cutting
down its famed cedars
for fuel—forests the size
of the Crusades to be
levelled in just three or
four years. Mommy,
Daddy, does stagflation
count? Birthday party
hats on sale at Walmart
while supply chains last—
gas at an all-time high.