Capitalist Poem #5

I was at the 7-Eleven.

I ate a burrito.

I drank a Slurpee.

It was late, after work, washing dishes.

The burrito was good.

I had another.

I did it every day for a week.

I did it every day for a month.

To cook a burrito you tear off the plastic wrapper.

You push button #3 on the microwave.

Burritos are large, small, or medium.

Red or green chili peppers.

Beef or bean or both.

There are 7-Elevens all across the nation.

On the way out I bought a quart of beer for $1.39.

I was aware of social injustice

in only the vaguest possible way.