First Solo Dinner

I burned the frozen meal again,

plastic fork melting on the edge.

The kitchen empty, smells of when

I left sauces in a greasy wedge.

No clean spoon, just scorched regret

and a pan chipped like my patience.

I stir the jar, no safety net,

learning silence in my own kitchen.

Tonight’s dinner tastes like trial—

a burnt crust hiding beneath the sauce.

No one’s coming, no one’s dialed,

just me with smoke and my small loss.