He was famished hunger embodied
To many solely an idea, unempirical concept,
To him a physically painful reality as the groans
Of his stomach became audible to all
Throughout the bar.
Drooling over the glass sandwich counter
Fluttering eyes twitching lips a chicken cutlet
A leaf of salad between two whole grain slices
Of bread enticed his palate awakening instincts.
Three euros and fifty cents he counts the coins
With tangible hope and anticipation until he dares
Timidly catch the bartender’s attention to order
The golden brown feast as he sighs.
Digging in with rotten teeth mastication
Is now the challenge, though he literally bites
Off more than he can chew, he stores pieces
On the sides improvising squirrel cheek pouches,
Grinding as best as he can I ineluctably stare
Cross his regard and smile whilst groans turn
Into pleasure moans of gratitude, to the divine
My guess as he only has himself to thank
For enduring yet another day.
[Featured painting: The Snack Bar by Edward Burra, 1930]