Sometimes I just dream of food, though not always good food.
We explore together what must be
One of the largest cafeterias I’ve ever seen,
And one of the least well-stocked.
Bowls within glass-covered counters are
Empty, or filled with things no one
Would want to eat – pink salads, unnameable
Meats. One boy reaches deep into a counter
To see what a bowl in the back even is,
Dragging it closer as a girl on the other side
Laughs at his arm’s long stretch. I heard
Someone in our group say
They wanted vanilla custard, so I break away
To see if I can find it. I pass
Station after station, picked at sparingly
By other diners, one friend holding
What she says is meant to be a Reuben sandwich,
But wrapped in a hard taquito shell.
She tells me there is only one station that is
Actually any good, but the line for that snakes
Along the back of the room, too long
To bother standing in. I move on,
So many more custard-like bowls to check,
And even if it’s terrible, I at least
Want to say I found it.