by Mike Foldes
The pantry shelves are filled
with cereals, rice, canned goods
with current date codes, a rack
of long white potatoes, a store
of liquors and wines, though
for the most part you stopped drinking
years ago. The refrigerator
is much larger than it needs to be
for the cubic volume of fruit,
vegetables, meats, shrimp
and other semi-precious perishables
taking up its inner space.
Within the cherry cupboards,
lifted and moved from market aisles
to privileged seats, one
behind another, a row of spices
each raised from front to back,
bishops in high-backed chairs
adorning the paper-lined nave.
The swollen belly grows larger
to match the pain, the wind wails,
or is that children singing?
If only they could paint poverty
into the corner of remember.