In the room where he waits, hunger <br />has become his friend and confidante. <br />When hunger returned after a long trip, <br />he ran toward it like a lost lover back <br />from desert travails with exotic stories <br />of horses and wild fruit. Now, he holds <br />hunger in his arms murmuring, tell me, <br />again, those stories. The details never <br />change, and, as time goes on, he begins <br />to tell the stories himself, so by heart <br />he knows them. After some time, they <br />have nothing left to tell. There is no <br />gnawing in his gut, though hunger is <br />there. In the pale light, clearly the bet <br />has been lost; he is satiated by hunger. <br />In all fairness, shouldn’t god let him go? <br /><br />Laura McCullough<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paradise-on-the-head-of-a-pin/
