Coffee in a paper cup, a plastic lid,
corrugated sleeve. The printed paper--
I call the colors blameless, but not the lid.
Would that the paper though revert to wood
or coffee grounds backtrack to beans,
beans to their blossoming. Too late, too late,
to unfry crispy bacon, to revive the pig, 
and apologize for its bad end.

Pretending this plain white plate is innocent,
I tell myself as I butter my toast,
to think with my taste buds, no questioning.
But today breakfast shames me and I know
reverse engineering cannot undo
the daily sacrifices that feed me.