The clock strikes mid-morning
The beast rises within your bowels
A beast of old coffee and digestion
Screaming its demands and wrenching your gut
The beast, named Hunger, has suddenly, surprisingly
Taken control of your body
And so you hunt, to quiet it
Turning corners, reaching the kitchen
You pause lightly, eyes scanning for sustenance
Coming to rest on the remains of the a.m. feast
Waffles, carefully cut
Sitting forgotten in haphazard piles on tiny plates
Floating in stagnant pools of maple syrup
(Grade B)
You take the plates, intent only on cleaning up
Drawing your will power to the surface, to abstain
To wait for a healthier meal
Perhaps I’ll make a salad, your brain thinks
A decoy thought, a distraction
As your fingers have already begun to bring the food
(Sweet, cold, dense morsels) to your lips
“Leggo the eggo” you think, with half a heart
Since you are almost done
Thirteen seconds, three plates cleared
The beast is fulfilled
And you, you are
A parent.
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