Eating Dog

Food and the pandemic are overwhelming realities, here, in Appalachia. I see nothing in the media about how desperate it really is. On my block, people are eating their dogs. Not stuffing. The shame runs deep. Suicide runs deep.

Hopelessness runs deep. Failure runs deep. Giving up runs deep. Hunger runs deep. Dumpster diving is a landscape of diminishing returns. People disguise themselves. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Remorse. The food bank boxes are pointless.

Dumpsters are empty. The New York Times publishes exotic recipes. It is fundamentally depressing. In Appalachia, the food desert is now ubiquitous. If the rationale for publishing enough recipes to fill a book is that it takes our minds off the pandemic, it is a massive failure while we are reduced to eating our pets.

We are not living in a movie. We are not living in a book. We are not living in a photograph. We are not living. You cannot call this a life. You cannot.

Destitution, desperation, and enormous poverty, can typically drown you on a good day of grief. Those days are over. Add to that disease and isolation, no health care, the dilemma is staggering. Food boxes are not the answer. Charity is not the answer. Dumpsters are not the answer. Nonprofits are not the answer. Coal is not the answer. Turkey dinner is not the answer. Eating your dog is not the answer. There is no dignity to reclaim.

Do not come down here and think you can save us. Largesse is not the answer. Change capitalism is the answer.