...and there was famine in the Land...

Across America, we feel the dearth
bread-flour's gone and yeast is hard to buy.
A lover who can bake's of sterling worth!
And even those who can't, feel moved to try.
The staff of life our fathers' fathers ate
seems suddenly uncertain here and now
the gliaden I've trained to aggregate
has no good substitute, preparing chow.
But still, the farmers sow, and reapers reap
and grain that's once been ground's on hand somewhere
especially the white stuff's meant to keep
it's only oils that spoil exposed to air.
Accustomed to force-feeding like we're geese.
Strange famine, in the Land of the Obese.