Copped Cup, Nabbed Noodles

It was just a little thing, a styrofoam

cup. But to the one who boiled the water,

replaced the lid, waited for dehydrated

peas to plump out, gave time for

brittle noodles to soften in chicken-flavored

brine that would have felt so good on

cold-roughened throat, its absence 

on the kitchen counter was disturbing.

Inquiries made, the culprit was exposed. 

So casually, meaninglessly, 

was the larcenous deed accomplished,

guilt was neither fully admitted nor felt.

An offer to replace it, turned down, turned out

to be hollow. The last cup of noodles 

in the house gone, the intended consumer

found bitterness for dinner instead,

symbols and meaning in the incident

that do not bode well. Do not bode

well at all. Her cup was copped,

her noodles nabbed. She is hungry still.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012