Flying Meatballs

A poem about futuristic food.

Photo by Jakub Gorajek on Unsplash

Like buzzards in a blizzard

the drones flit about in the fog-swept sky

They ferry little parcels of TVP pig flesh from BBQ joints

Tiny cartons of stir-fried lab-grown chicken muscle

Frozen pounds of guiltless vegan hamburger

All across the sky of South Bay in the chill of winter

Food is everywhere in the air

But packed so perfectly that the gulls don’t have a care

I sit on my stoop and watch driverless cars glide by

Not a whiff of fossil fuel to be had

My iPhone XX vibrates to let me know

that my order is locked on and inbound

A pint of rice noodles, edamame and meatless balls comes humming through the fog

and lands right next to me and my little meatless robo-dog.