fair trade

the church door swings open
beyond the genuflecting flesh
they are bound in white starch
and wonderbread complicity
some wrapped in cellophane
down the aisle
past the electric sea of candles
up the steps
my sunday morning coffee
placed on the altar
consecrated with organic 1/2 and 1/2
brown sugar
and beads of nervous sweat
lifted halfway to heaven and then back down
the blood of migrant farmers
baked into every last bean
they died for my sins
and i drink theirs

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