Burgeoning Hunger

 

Never, ever, let pride get in the way of a good meal – A man with no name

 

A couple of cheap tricks bought you a quick trip to the promised lands / of fast food, freezer bags, and deep-fried something or others / that filled the half but not the hole / in my stomach / or my heart.

 

Rations ran slim as the gnawing hunger seeped into my skin and soul / watching the rich kids toss out their “waste” / while the slums suffered shortages / of sustainable goods / like food on the table at every meal.

 

Desperate stances robbed you of standards / junk food for the soul and soul mates that rot you to the core / as banquets bought with blood money / fester, decay, and turn sickeningly sweet / but you still eat / because hunger never sleeps / even if you do.

 

It wasn’t starvation / but it wasn’t the salvation / of the north side sit down diner / where the food didn’t smell like cigarette smoke and whisky stains / and the waitstaff didn’t reek of desperation and a needed paycheck / but the food I ate kept me alive / because that’s what they focus on / that I survived / even though I stayed hungry / every step of the way.

 

Peanut Butter & Peach Preserves

 

Simple pleasures bring simple joys

in a world over-done, overcooked, burnt near a crisp.

Soft tones of flavor fleck gentle over taste buds and settle nerves.

Calm calamities and subtle shifts of static

go unnoticed for a brief moment

as a situational snack fills sunken eyes

with signs of life.

Flavors concisely coalesce into one wonderful,

momentary pause in the chaos

as three simple ingredients take me back

to a time before I knew the world was wrong

and that I was poor.

 

Death Smells Like Strawberries

 

The kitchen is empty, save for one set

of slightly busted, bandaged hands

that labor slowly over soft heat.

Slow rolled dough and carefully crafted molds

cling to the filling crammed carefully into crust

brought just below a boil

so it only bakes.

Gentle scents wharf from the concoction

and he collapses

because that smell still reminds him

of you.

 

About the Author: Hello, my name is Evan Schoettle and I just have a general love of poetry and writing in general. I believe that writing of any kind has the potential to spread inspiration the world over, and if I can do something even remotely similar, I consider my work a success.