Someone has said that poetry should make the ordinary strange. If you remember the source, please send me a comment. Does this poem accomplish that, or is it something many of us feel?

In the Produce Section

For health I focus on vegetables.
They don’t agree.  Lettuce speaks
for flexibility, carrots for steadfastness.
Tomato cries “I’m ready and willing.
Don’t put me off.”  Celery says
“Tomorrow is fine.  Next week
could bring disaster.”  Squash
puts the kibosh on my scheme for an
ordered life: “None of us last forever.”
Chard and kale argue over which
is the greatest.  I take them by turns
to avoid hurt feelings.  Balanced
diet, pleasing meals?  A challenge
in this cacophony.  Potatoes
and onions say nothing, ready
to start new growth if I ignore them.