Grade School Cafeteria
When it has been
raining a lot
certain corridors
smell like the grade
school cafeteria. For the
first few grades I
was terrified of the
food and pushed it
together so the cooks
wouldn’t feel bad. Then
I was in charge of punching
tickets and gradually the
fear vanished and I
fell in love with
the baton of school-bus
yellow cheese always present
with spaghetti. I loved
the cooks, hair humbled
in nets, who hugged and
invited me out back
where they smoked beautifully
ringed packs of Lucky Strikes
and unfastened their stockings
from the hard tabs
that held held the
dark borders.
