"Produce" by Devon Neal

“In the produce department, everything is dying,

but there are two things still living—

can you name those two things?” The district

manager, hair slicked back like a minister,

stood in front of the young recruits,

stitched into their button-downs and dress skirts.

On the wall rack next to them, the wet nozzles

turned on, spritzing the cucumbers, autumn-colored

peppers, the floral hemming of the green leaf

lettuce. Someone said, “the living greens,”

that plastic box of dirt and growing herbs.

They were stumped on the second and, pushing

my rattling cart, I wanted to yell, “the associates!”

As they, nearly invisibly, busied around the department

like fruit flies in polo shirts. Someone said

something else, though, and the manager

reacted enthusiastically, then continued with

his sermon. As they left, I thought maybe I was wrong,

picturing us all lying on well-lit tables,

insects drawn to the sweet nectar of our aging eyes,

black sores borrowing into our wrinkling skin

until it became rough and brittle like avocados.

Maybe we aren’t shuffling in wet soil,

living, growing, reaching for the sun;

rather, we’re drying out on our displays,

stalks broken, desperate for a drink.

Devon Neal (he/him) is a Bardstown, KY resident who received a B.A. in Creative Writing from Eastern Kentucky University and an MBA from The University of the Cumberlands. He currently works as a Human Resources Manager in Louisville, KY. His work has been featured in Moss Puppy Magazine, Dead Peasant, Paddler Press, MIDLVLMAG, and others.