The partitioned TV dinner tray had no compartment provided for dreams.
Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas and corn, even apple pie.
Your daily recommended allowance
will have to come from somewhere else.
A fifty-count bottle of tablet supplements may be available at the grocery store.
In the aisle next to the push-tabs
of winning lottery ticket lozenges,
Extended-release patches
of fried chicken,
or the jumbo-sized bottles of extra strength gummies with real fruit juice and long-lost love.
Without the compartment for dreams, all the food will get mixed together into a single, bland, homogeneous mess.
Not dissimilar from the content found while mindlessly scrolling on the fingerprint-smeared smartphone or the local streaming service provider.
Eyes glazed over from lack of interest, lack of desire, lack of goals, or anything resembling joy.
