Island table in the center,
Our own social network
A confessional counter,
Not just a place to eat

Placemats like grass,
A misty-looking green
Plates with tiny flowers on it,
Food plopped on top
Our own personal garden

Open up the fridge
A section for vegetables
A place where they can rest
A hiding place

In the corner, a lonely carrot
Rotting,
Feeling unloved
Slowly dying
Orange with spots of brown

Pot of water boils on the stove
Bubbling, waiting for raw vegetables to take a swim
Who’s going to get cooked the fastest?
You can hear the unstill liquid from three rooms away
Consider it the starting gun for the race