hunger

just by watching his arms you could tell he was sleeping

on a yellow-cushioned wicker chair much like yours –

tipped feet peace-signing

just beside a faded power board –

electrical chord as clear

as cold, gelatinous August

cataract linoleum etched with fortune lines –

then he woke up, readjusted his perfect hair

took a brazen swig from the café water carafe

and fell to sleeping again

miles away from anything he’d ever done

anywhere he’d ever been or thought of being –

white watch buckle half threaded through the loop

and therefore looped like a piece of dried apple –

notebook binding in back scratcher disarray

hair so perfect, socks pulled up so tightly

the shins caught light at every second stripe –

weightless, you concluded without envy, without bitterness

without anything but a chipmunk’s dumb hunger to hoard what he had
for when your city plunged down the mercury's staircase - 

just by watching his arms you could tell he was weightless.