Resentment
               

See an Aramark delivery van parked in a lot & flip it off.

Old habit.

Eight years now since I tasted my last bland, unspecified meat patty
                in the prison chow hall, &

I harbor resentment for meals I pushed aside like a cop
                directing traffic around an accident.

How often I traded my tray for one puff off a roll-up.

Look at me now: fat from freedom, a glutton begging bowls of broth.

But I remember years of breaded fish parts, almost fishless;
                vegetable medleys; eggs from a bag like yellow snow.

I know, it's not the company's fault that the warden
                picked the cheapest plan.

At least occasional chicken thighs were real.

Maybe that's the bird I'm giving back—a gesture of good will.

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from Kestrel
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