Salad Bar

I like my salads undressed,
Un-dripping with sauces of sours and sweets.
Withering, pouting leaves that sag with expiration.
Too late unshelved, seasoned for tolerance and not flavor,
Much like a steak before the icebox obsession.

Tended a tossed bowl of greens
That only holds such color by name,
Stooped to the brand of "bar" because
One can't get drunk off fresh vegetables,
So they offer a bottle of their strongest ranch.

Where the sneeze guard is an obtuse design,
As the filth goes in and not out,
And patrons must fit into their clothes -
Not the other way around.

But they'll always promise a one-time fee
For butter lettuce and sugar peas.
Page after page of cabbage sleeves,
All you can read, all you can eat.
Everyone's waiting in line for reader's digest.

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