I clasp my hands, and begin to pray
It might sound cliché, but food makes my day…

The clock strikes 1 and I run to the kitchen
But wait a line—seriously for the microwave?
I look at my chicken

Grilled in its glory,
Covered in sauce
I lick my lips and drown in my thoughts

Why does Alfredo pasta taste so darn good?
Any kind, really, I’d taste em all if I could.

Pancakes for breakfast
Sausage on the side

Nachos for lunch
With a margarita on ice
Buffalo wings with blue cheese
Or for the crazies, ranch dressing
You’re thinking… um you done yet?
Nope the fat lady's not singing

Macaroni and cheese later, with some
Asparagus and beans
Downed with some juice
Any wine M’lady?

Licking my lips I taste the ice cream
What kind? Any kind
Any flavor with sprinkles really.

“HELLO? HELLOOOOOO??”
It’s just as I feared
“You’re gonna get skipped”, a short girl sneers.

I’ve been daydreaming again, such a fatty
“Sorry” I say my face way to happy.

I pop open the microwave
I press one, and place my food on the tray
Yessssssss it’s lunchtime, I think
AND FOOD MAKES THE DAY.