Ode to Lunch
Call me big and greedy
But there is a time for which I am always needy,
Lodged between 3rd and 4th
A cessation of hunger
And quenching of thirst
A meer forty minutes
It ends
Too soon
But my tummy starts a-rumblin’
When the clock approaches noon.
Wretched Hour (8am)
Skinned and bloodied I am. Trees shoot across my peripheral as I am peeled from the bottom of my cave filled with ancient words and goose feathers and twinkling little lights. Skinned and bloodied I am. How dare you, bestower of life, drag me with such malice out into this hateful world?
My entrails are stolen, placed in between the inked pages of a heavy book. I bid farewell to my lavish life: I am now a pleading, gutted mess. Skinned and bloodied I am.
Flies begin to blacken my eyes and I lose my footing so I can barely approach the two taunting doors. My nails long and my cries vulgar: I pound for salvation at the gates. Skinned and bloodied I am: Being let into G and H has never been so excruciating.