And Anyway, You Can’t Cook

That’s two more for today, then
One for the far future, just
In case you find yourself there,

And three more for tomorrow.
That should hold you for the time,
Says the friend with prepared meals,

Homemade prepared meals, mind you,
Stashed in the fridge and freezer.
But—you protest—you make more

Of those every single day,
Why are you stacking them up?
You never know when things end,

Replies the friend. Might as well
Pretend you’re getting ready.