Basement Uncooked Polenta

How I ended up with a bag of 
Bob's Red Mill Polenta
is no longer a matter of
record. The important thing
is the basement, a place where
a person of a certain height
needed to sit down to put on
a shirt. And every episode 
extant of Star Trek (excepting the 
original series, even i at the time
could not), part one of a Teddy
Roosevelt biography, with a two
burner hot plate next to the 
laundry sink on the unfinished
side of the so-called abode. i
was lower case, under the clouds,
feasting on gray lint on the forest
green futon, where I dozed at all
hours and poked away at mindless
internet games. The bottom of the
barrel was when i scraped up handfuls
of uncooked yellow particles and 
masticated, seeing a grim face in the
mirror who I won't forget,
recognizing in the eyes and the
jaw a will to survive, to live to
follow instructions on a package
and eat food to taste again one day.

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