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A stack of chicken flavored Maruchan ramen packets
Image by frankieleon (CC BY 2.0)

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.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Kashawn Taylor is a writer incarcerated in Connecticut.