A Small Funeral for Monsanto

My One-Man-Revolution was beleaguered, and my emotions taken aback, when I encountered racks of Roundup at Home Depot.

I shop there often. However, Monsanto's jugs of liquid death reminded me of tombstones. I was in Monsanto's Mausoleum with plastic urns stacked to the ceiling. Every town has one.

I gazed upon Monsanto's latest link in a long history of deadly endeavors--patents on life forms, assault on small farmers, taking away rights to grow seeds, force-feeding genetically-altered food to the public, while opposing food-labeling (with the blessings of Walmart); not to mention Monsanto's history as producer of bovine growth hormone, DDT, and PCB's, and how can we forget Agent Orange in the Vietnam War, and Monsanto's historical laboratory operation on the Manhattan Project developing the first nuclear weapons, and their operation of nuclear facilities.

Monsanto--an 11 billion dollar revenue baby. Was I powerless?--Or did I protest too little? I found myself in the nursery section. I grabbed a pot of daisies and stuffed them in the toxic brew, and took out my Canon camera. I am a Shop-Shifter, a placer of products in provocative position for protest. Darn!--I left my photo card at home. 

But a revolutionary always has backup. I  took my trusty flip cell phone. The focus could be better, but I got the picture and took a moment to reflect upon the untold gallons of death and destruction above me.  The flowers were a small offering, hardly a worthy tribute to the 500,000 genetically deformed Vietnamese babies, or millions of other affected people. But at least it was a service. A small funeral. I paused and moved on.