The produce aisle told me 
About society and it’s tendencies 
Every apple smooth and without blemish 
Perfectly crisp and sweet 
Technology rapidly improved 
To bring lavish to the feast 
Indeed, they were bred that way 

Clones made by grafting branches 
Genetically, deliciously identical 
Their wild sister is tart 
Spotted with hyperpigmentation 
She is small, uneven 
Food fit to rot
Though she is the source 
Of all the flavor we’ve bought

The same came be said 
For every fruit I scrutinize 
As I push my cart along 
Beautiful, perfect and 
Genetically weak 
Disease prone, cloaked in pesticide 
And erosion to survive 
Indeed, they were bred that way 

Not only in magazines do we see 
What we think beautiful means 
No wonder I am unhappy 
With my mirror image 
The truth is hidden 
By a disease we cannot see
And that no pesticide can reach 
Just like in the fruit we buy
We crave perfection 
Our own infectious blight 
Indeed, we were bred that way