Pesto

If I had a mortar and pestle
I'd crush it all -
nuts and all -
and derive satisfaction
from the physical pounding
on the helpless lifeless
foodstuff
in the bowl.

I could hear the crunch
of pulverized almonds
the squelch of sticky garlic
and watch the bruising
of delicate basil leaves;

then the action becomes
socially acceptable
and the fury becomes
an exerted manifestation
of aggression towards
lifeless plant matter.

Mortar-less,
pestle-less,
and restless,
I settle
for the expediency
of a food processor
whining and grinding
its way against
the fibers of my nerves.