gas station food
arrives Wednesday morning
here in J Dorm, and,
in the bustling night,
the gelatinous stench
poisons our dead air.
microwave fried
processed meats
(chorizo turkey sticks, hot beef)
instant rice —
white and its more specific
sophisticated orange cousin,
Spanish — and wraps craftily
created with crumpled doritos.
trades:
maruchan ramen noodles
tantamount to a cinnamon raisin
bagel or half-bag of
velveeta cheesy refried beans.
dunkin sticks! what are those?
bait fish fried in soybean
oil, because we’re prey now.
an advertisement: BIG MEALS!
now 40% less sodium
but the salt still stings
my surly eyes, or
perhaps it’s my greasy heart
refusing to beat on,
or — just maybe! —
it’s my enraged stomach
begging to be sated
with real food.