my heart is a turnip
grown to an absurd extent
a rutabaga wrested from the ground
with undue influence
dried and salted
stained with chemicals
and plopped on the shelf beneath a white light
a vegetable drowned in moist stench
a root plunged or thrusted
from dirt to air
ground to glass
to table and plate
when i serve it to you
i’m left to wonder if you’re eating it merely to crap it out again