Boxes

I remember, as a child, hearing about all the starving children in other parts of the world. It was a ploy to get me to eat my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner. It was a ploy to get me to appreciate what I had: the spinach, the runny eggs, the canned button mushrooms I picked out of every spaghetti sauce my mother made. I am done with ploys, but still admit I have a few of my own. My children are grown. Then there's still me, thinking it is possible to box up my own needs, send them, like breakfast, to the starving children in other parts of the world. No. It's a ploy.

I box what I need

For those in need

On the other side of the world.

It does not help

Either one of us.