i remember
standing in line
for the long
gray cardboard
box of
government cheese
and the weekly
ration of
powdered milk

i was a kid
the circumstances
meant nothing
but the promise
of the best
grilled cheese
in the world
put a smile on
my little face

we had a slicer
a long wire
and a plastic
roller that sloppily
cut slabs of
the golden brick

some nights
i cannot shake
the craving
for those perfect
grilled squares
cut in right
triangles with
an ooze of melted
cheese stretched
between and a
small pile of
salty rippled
chips between

instead i sit
the back of
my throat
swollen with
unbidden sobs
unceasing as
the clouds
threatening
the rain that
never quite
manages
to fucking
fall

dragging my feet
lackadaisically
chasing the dreams
i can’t bear
to see turn to
ashes as soon as
my fingers brush
gently along them
the same as
every other
fool’s errand i
have pursued up
to this point of
exasperated
apprehension

same stupid smile
no longer quite
reaching hazel malaise
daydreaming about
the handouts
that once nourished
my worthless soul