Taste of Poor

I tasted poor this evening when I reluctantly
chose pinto beans for dinner and reminded
myself that life could be worse, as we always
do when we desperately comfort ourselves.

Indeed, things could be worse than a skinny
bank account, atrocious expenses and a cost
of living that mothers my debt while I am
a child with bare cupboards.

My mouth salivated from bitter seasoning
coaxing my tongue with curses and panic
basked when I cooked the beans, spinning
around and around in the microwave while
my eyes imagined sanity teetering on
the brim of the bowl.

I could no longer label myself a poor
college student, "this is real," logos
echoed and pinged back and forth from
thought to thought.

I sat and fiddled my fork between my fingers
as my eyes became fixated on my dinner,
playing with the food that alarmed my fear
of digesting a familiar meal of uncertainty.