Hungry

My stomach twists and contracts, shouting unusual commands to the rest of the bus passengers. A woman that looks like she could be anyone's mother gives me a polite smile. I smile back, sweating, cursing her for acknowledging my situation. Does anyone have a bagel? I lean foreward--almost to stretch out my stomach. I can feel the inner walls of it being sucked together. I gather a ball of spit in my mouth and swallow. There, that should keep you satisfied for a while. My stomach sends another loud declaration to the rest of the bus. I look outside for distraction. Benny's Bagels. Star Foods. Inboden's Meat Market. Pike's Garden. Does anyone have a candy bar? I feel weak all over, the floor of the bus is looking mighty comfortable. Does anyone have a Coke? I sift through my backpack one more time, searching for a lost stick of gum, or even a flavored tube of chapstick. Does anyone have a granola bar? We pass by a McDonalds, and the bus is consumed by the warm smell of...McDonalds. Does anyone have some extra fries? I slouch down in my seat and close my eyes. I think of my mom's house, and how the pasta would already be waiting, steaming, on the table. Now I am alone, a person with a full stomach would call it independent. My stop. I jog across the street to the drug store and buy a king size Snickers.

Funny, whenever I see this word, my stomach begins to feel empty. Linguistically, an everlasting self-fulfilling prophecy....

It is good to be hungry, especially hungry for Hungarian goolosh.

i'm always hungry.<br>i lust for something more.

the crow is hungry for what life does not give to the innocent, to rip and to tear away that which has been already taken.

wishing I could be there

wishing

wishing I could be there with you