Customer

Waiter!

There’s a conspiracy theorist
in my salad.

Waiter!

There’s a billionaire
in my broth.

The entree
is an undercooked slab
of retribution and hate,
sprinkled with cruelty,
garnished with abuse,
and where
is my side of human dignity?

Waiter,
send it all back!

107/365

A version of this poem first appeared on Bluesky. Whispered into the acoustic sensors of the sleeping dreaming android, it prompted the electric sheep to generate one more tomorrow…