I anticipate the taste of the food
as I lift the fork to my mouth
because I can’t wait, even for a split second
to satisfy a desire.
“Anticipation is a smash-and-grab
of the near future,” says a voice almost
close enough to hear, were I to listen.
As I chew, the flavors lose all interest
and I scan the table to see what else
has been serve up.
“Desire does not want to have
it wants to want,” says the voice
still trying to get through.
Stomach full, flecks of grease on my collar
I smack my lips like a sated pig, and go
lie in the mud of this unexamined life.
“We’ll try again some other time,” says
the voice, still determined to reach me.