The dogs are happy biting bones, Though meat, they never meet;
He’s back to work upon the pile And sorts the rocks from leaves;
There’s silence excepting the noise of scrambling for food found;
The garbage-dump’s a blessed spot, Where man and beast share food!
My selfish version of hunger:
A famished, lone-clad lady stands amidst a pot of soup
All searching through her mothers kitchen room for some left-over food;
The aroma of freshly baked empanada
Oh the thought of fruits, yogurt and granola;
Each time taking swigs from a bottle,
filled with cayenne, lemon and maple;
No hunger-pangs from master cleanse
yet thy lip yearns as she willfully contends.