Fourth Thursday

Sprouts

I am an ambassador from another dimension
I come bearing a problem I wish to discuss
That problem pertains to the Salad

That's right.

The Salad.

Not the salad you are used to, for in my dimension,
the Salads are men
and women with dressing pumping through their veins
and a lack of chains tying them to the earth.

They walk, they talk, they breath carbon.

The Salads walk through their fields as kings, wearing
crowns of weeds decorated with precious stones,
keeping earthworms as pets and allowing them to
swim to the dirt and peek their heads up to their masters.

As with any good group, this clan met their own problems,
coming by way of meat. Meat, which boasted it's carnivorous
tendencies, shooting spices and locking the Salads together in
vines, bundling them, wrapping them, sealing them and sending
them to the meat packaging plants
Where they imprinted a simple message in their stems
and their minds, saying
"You are nothing more than a side dish! Meat tastes better!"

They stripped them of their identities, renaming them “sprouts.”
That's right, sprouts. Sprouts would be beaten, have eggs
splashed on them, be raped only to produce veggie patties.
They became used to the name Sprouts, started to act like sprouts
until a few select Salads helped fuel the fight to free Salads
from their dish.

Salads were freed but they didn't know what to do
with their title of Sprouts, which was always hung over their
head along with sides and toppings. Some grew so attached
to their identity as Sprouts that they continued to call themselves
by the name their Meaty oppressors handed down to them

Sprouts became a culture, Sprouts became the definition
of ignorance, with Sprouts being blamed for rising
produce costs, blamed for farmer's job security,
blamed for the destruction of the salad bar.

Sprouts also became popular. Meats became lean,
they covered themselves in sprouts, being leafy was a
compliment, an honor.
Meats would see
each other, away from Salads and say “What's good,
my sprout?
What's hood, my sprout?
Sprout, please!”

Sprouts would drip from the prejudice lips
Of the teacher to the student from the teacher
To CNN (Culinary News Network)
Where Meats would see the story and say
"Why can't wee say it? They say it all the time."
Then flip the channel up and see
An eloquent salad running for office and say
Wow, he speaks so well!
Then flip the channel once more and see
The story of a multi-platinum artist
Releasing his new CD, S.P.R.O.U.T.S.
Which was renamed Untitled to appeal
To the sensitive ears,
but we all know what the real title was.


I know what you're thinking: What kind of world is this?

Well, as your ambassador from another dimension
I can say
That Your world is not that much different from mine.
The only difference between your dimension and mine
is that in yours, Sprouts actually own the record labels.