Food Schedule

I get up on the hour

Hair, teeth and shower.

My job for me chosen.

Apartment one of a dozen.

All out of my control,

yet painfully predictable.

No choices left for me to make,

Except not fried, boiled or baked.

My food is my power.

I pick sweet or sour.

My food is my selection.

So when I deny that confection.

Know that my diet is my true last stand.

From a world that holds me in the palm of its hand.