are you a good protein substitute? 
don't eat soy it'll turn you
back into a woman, you know,
like mom with her hands 
in the pink-wormy-tendril ground beef
98% lean. the fat is what makes
it taste good though. the cows stand
in the fields but they're actually
made of plastic. recycled, of course. 
they don't blink. they never blinked. 
these are the cows we use for vegetable patties. 
insides made of kidney beans &
their teeth, chickpeas & pesto.
they lay down. labor day is somehow
always overcast. you can't convince it otherwise.
rain drops fall & sizzle on
the grill while we burn our
hands plucking out the hot coals.
we have to save them. keep them safe.
there's only so much fossil fuel.
leave the cows alone they're just
trying to decompose like the rest of us.
they try to trick me, pointing at
two different meat balls, 
carnivorous roulette, which one is real?
& the pre-maid cows cover their faces
in shame, they can't watch this.
i eat the meat ones by accident
& the rest of the day the dead cows 
spots migrate beneath my skin--
grey cloudy & vengeful. death by
microwave we flatten the herd-- 
the medium rare horizon
i want it to bleed. i'm not judging 
you for eating meat. i used to like
the texture in my fingers-- rolling
patties between palms. skewered & 
marinated. my hands like
cow tongues-- rough & salivating. 
not enough paper towels, not enough
coals; each growing hooves to cross
the street up by covered-bridge road.
i've lost trust in those other cows.
they're too alive to be trusted. 
i saw one breathe. i pried a yellow squash
from its mouth. grind me down to 
unrecognizable bits. the soy beans 
in my blood, are greening me-- an hourglass
shape. burger sigh & hiss. she pinches
of pieces off my hips. mom, this is meat.
mom, it's pink inside. it's all pink.