A Sack of White Rice

In the supermarket
The 10 lb. bag of white rice
So plain and non-descript
(But yet so symbolic and basic)
Sitting on the bottom shelf -
Always attracts my attention

I like picking it up
Because it has bulk and weight
I like to feel the contents
Shifting around, changing shape
(More like a fluid than a solid)

I like reading the simple directions:
2 cups of rice - 1 quart of water
Bring to a boil - cover - simmer
The individual grains becoming one
In Zen-like perfection

I think of its potential
To feed so many hungry mouths-
I envision it being distributed
Sack by sack off the back
Of a flat bed truck
In some drought ridden country

And then I think to myself
How misplaced this sack of rice seems
Sitting on the bottom shelf
Of this suburban store
And I take it over to the aisle
Where they are distributing food
To the poor

But the men in that Aisle
All have guns (even the children)
And they say: Don't bring us rice.
You better leave this aisle
Or we will take your life -
Do you want to be dead?

So, I leave with the sack of rice
And as I put it back
On the bottom shelf -
The sack splits
And a thousand bullets
Spill out onto the floor.

This, I think to myself,
Is what they were looking for.