Wondered

i'm wrapped
in a plastic bag
called wonder.

not a plastic wrap kink
but a reflection of
the sun dial and heat
as it builds within

he told me he wanted
to mold me
which becomes slowly true
as my freckles turn green

some items are perishable
hot dog buns laying
on the bed staring
at the ceiling

Wondering.

Dress them with relish,
Slide the plastic knife,
scraping their delicate
middles and wetting
them with flavor.
All in preparation.

Let them sit.

Still they lay,
condiments setting firmly
stiffening with each
moving shadow
consumption dreams
despair

i thought it was
to be shaped and
held and used as a
delicacy
a cherished treat
repeat, repeat

ceiling tells me
it's just a clear
plastic bag
with words no more
solid than memories
of last week's
tossed culinary
surplus.