My mother is the kind of woman
who buys fried mushrooms
with her last five dollars
on the way home
from a listless day waiting
for nothing
at the welfare office

One small bite of
rich sponginess
circles my senses
cleansing
filling

Or maybe what fills is
is the taste of futility

A few moments
with a woman
who spends her last five dollars
on fried mushrooms
to share with her child