I asked my mother for a snack.
She knew my tastes and had my back.

She points to the frig before she has said,
"Have some butter. Have some bread."

She left the room. I was alone.
Open the door. Begin to moan.

I want something for seconds, for thirds, and more.

Inside its plastic doors there lies
Nothing exciting, not a single surprise.

There's eggs, milk, an old pot of stew.
Chocolates and truffles, unopened and new.

There are jellies and jams,
Meats and cheese to make sams.

Orange apple, banana, and pear
Are just enough to give me a scare.

Lettuce, onions, corn, and potatoes,
Squash, chickpeas, and half rotten tomatoes.

When I see it I know I'd rather be dead
Than to have some butter and some bread.

But behind this butter, behind this bread
Is something I'd much rather have instead.

At the time I was not much fond of the grape,
Compared to the others it was the hero in cape.

I grabbed the bag and sat on the floor,
Got ready for a handful, maybe some more.

As I held four ovals in my hand
I knew they'd be mushy, tasteless, and bland.

I had never had a fresh bunch of grapes.
Mine had always been pruny, like an eighty year old ape.

I popped the fruit into my mouth with the lowest expectations ever.
That's when I experienced something I had experienced never!

It burst in my mouth and crunched when I chew!
The juice oozed down my chin. This was something so new!

I was so happy and excited I cried and ate more.
I stuffed my face with one hundred and four.

It was at that moment she walked into the scene.
Mother asked, "Why cry Susan? Has your brother been mean?"

I wiped away my tears and shook my head no,
Hiding the fruit bag so it wouldn't show.

"No mother," I say. "Not my old brother Ted.
I was just having some butter and some bread."