First Poem: Rough Draft
Junk-food Dreamin’
Open arms lie empty,
dark stains stretching into each corner
molded over with hard gooeyness
that’s no longer appetizing.
A tripped-up cup of oozing
golden sauce, laced
with garlic and perfect
for dipping that last
crusty morsel, sleeps
defeated on the carpet.
Tiny three-legged plastic table
lies sideways amidst the garbage,
knocked down during a ravage of hunger.
All that remains are longings.
Wishful thinking brings them back;
the warm aroma of spicy tomato that hangs
in the air when the lid is lifted,
the circular treat with its plumes
of steam billowing out from the
scorch-marked white tar that
creeps around the weeping meaty
grease pits. The hiss beckons
salivating taste buds to partake
of the heathen feast of gods
so full of extra calories
that arteries cry out in pain with every bite.
And yet the risk is tossed aside
as the delectable pie is devoured
body and soul. Soggy cardboard
is the only witness and all that remains
is the angry rumbles of desire as
it protests the box’s vacancy.
