I used to be jealous of the kids at school

who used to bring in their brown paper bags, a box of Lunchables.

Delicious red no. 40 salsa and not-yo-cheese,

oh how I wished I can have some of Steve’s.

Or Charlie’s cold pizza made crusty to order,

scrumptious cardboard with pepperoni topped to the border.

But all I ever had was my smelly Korean food,

full of Mother’s thoughts, hopes and dreams.

As she awoke every morning before the break of dawn,

to pack her little man a nutritious and healthy meal.

I can’t believe I didn’t taste the love before.

Good thing no one ever asked to trade lunches.