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hunger
there’s just not enough of her
they all stare hungrily
as though she was other than invisible
objects that are not objects
animals of reexamination, improvising
things that aren’t there, never alone
those which have been let go, on their own, for long
are those that are sought the most
struggled for and languished on the most
and I’m amongst them
staring hungrily, unfed
like when she says, as I’m about to leave
‘I’ll stay at the bear for just a little while longer…’
and I see the way they look
they don’t want to open up community centers in the hood
they don’t want to write novels to keep the turtle’s back firm
they don’t want to stick around just to see what her kids will look like
whose reflection they will take
… but it’s a pointless urging
I’ll leave the bar and pretend to trust her
as their laggard fingers take her dress off leisurely
we all pretend there’s theatre here, and destiny,
and now
but our days grow meager, thinned
about as dense as headlines
and we’ve all been so esurient and keen for such a while
we stare at her as though she were a feast
as though there was anything to eat there
and our disappointment becomes the continued rumbling of the belly
and our ambition becomes to quench that need
and we create shiny pretty things to fatten up the next meal
hoping we’ll finally have our fill
hoping to sink our teeth into some satisfaction unabstracted
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