Food Chain | Donald Illich

Food Chain | Donald Illich

I fill the bathtub with Velveeta.
I slip and slide in it
like a pretzel on the loose.

My wife doesn’t mind so much.
Our bed is covered in chocolate,
she’s pretending to be a truffle.

Snacks aren’t life, though.
It’s the activity where we recall
how animals are hunting us.

They pass by with laser guns
and bazookas. Their best creatures
are ready to fry us in woks,
to drizzle soy sauce on us.

Except our police, hunters,
park rangers, load their guns.
They don’t wish to be reminded
they’re meals. Instead,

they affix a pair of antlers
on the wall, cover the floor
with a heavy bear rug.

They say we’re on the top.
The food chain glitters
underneath us.


Donald Illich has published poetry in The Iowa Review, Fourteen Hills, and Cold Mountain Review. He won Honorable Mention in the Washington Prize book contest.