White rice yellowed with butter,
a black pattern of pepper protectively
adhering to cooked grain—
breakfast, lunch, and dinner;
a spoonful of off-brand chocolate
frosting for dessert. A shared
single bedroom for me, you,
and your lovers. The familiar
burn of alcohol forever found
on your breath, but never
any money for meat.
Meaghan Andrews is a Georgia based writer with four poems having been previously published with The Fall Line Review. She also does editing.