Part of Your Meal

I'm shelved with your left-overs.

Saved scraps to piece together your meal.

Collected and stored.

I poured easily into the jar with no lid.  

Just the size for a small teacup plate to cover.

You were ready to toss me.

But, I see I was useful enough to be used today.

Perfect to moisten your vegetables.

They inevitably dry out in storage overnight.

You scrape me out of this jar I sit in.

Parts of me remain on the sides and bottom.

Quickly and carelessly you set the jar in water running under the faucet.

What remains of me falls into the drain.

Even the jar will be recycled or reused.

I feel luke-warm when you finish heating me up.

You pour me over and stir me in.

Not very exotic or gourmet.

To you I'm not the sought after delicacy of noble recipes.

But, I know there's more of myself.

I regrettably came without a label of ingredients.

I was set behind the tomatoes and pickles. 

In the jar without a lid.

I become what I am served as, not what I am.

My flavor is compromised as I conform.

I become what you want to see and taste.

Not the savory flavor I am.

Mediocre, left-over, functional, barely purposeful.

I am disappointed as I smooth myself out across this meal of yours.

I will give it depth and character.

You may not even notice as you pick up your fork and stab me.

Bon Appetite.