mashed potatoes

they slide a small
plate of indistinquishable
food in the slot
below your cell
door. it's white
and mushy and reminds
you of mashed
potatoes. the kind
they used to serve
at a restaurant near
where you lived.
next to it is a small
slice of grey meat.
the white stuff though
looks like
an old gym sock.
shredded with pebbles
and dirt
sprinkled about.
you are truly sorry
for your crimes.
you would do anything
to break out of this
prison and be back
eating mashed potatoes
covered in butter
and gravy and mushrooms.
your heart aches
for potatoes,
and then you feel
a hand smacking against
your head, hey, hey,
what are you dreaming
about, you're dooling
on me and biting some
sensitive areas.