Maraschino cherries are dyed red and sweetened,
Pickled in a sweet chemical blush.
Eggs are bleached, and flour,
So that we’re not offended by their earthen irregularities.
In the produce section of the supermarket,
The pyramids of apples emit their waxy sheen.
I’m shushed by the sudden mist that bathes the lettuce,
Shh, be quiet, be clean.