Meal (an acrostic poem)

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Making food always made him feel both happy and sad.

Every morsel that left his kitchen was a love note to those who ordered it.

A loving response was an empty plate that came back, ready to be cleaned for a new missive.

Leaving food on the plate meant rejection and left him wondering what went wrong.

Feast (an acrostic poem)

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Focusing on the food was what gave him pleasure

Every morsel perfectly prepared and consummately seasoned

At the moment he could think of nothing better existing in the universe

So why was his stomach still an echo chamber of empty rumbles?

The fact the meal in question was just an old magazine spread and he had no money

Valentine’s Day Special (a 100 word story)

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Bob pruned his dying orchid while contemplating Valentine’s Day.  He hated the “holiday” with more passion than he felt about any relationship he had ever been in.  The only redeeming quality was the reduced-price chocolates the next day.  He popped one such morsel in his mouth as he moved to the next morbid plant, one given to him by his ex.  That’s when he had an epiphany!  He knew how to make Valentine’s Day special for everyone.  The following year he made ten thousand dollars selling dead flowers and bouquets to people who wanted that special something… for their ex.