for even the smallest snack;
for even the tiniest morsel.

Nourishment is few and far between
for them:

They lurk quietly in the canopy,
waiting; watching,
for the reddest meat.

They feed on scraps,
table scraps,
stolen scraps,
pirated scraps of humanity.

They live for the hunt.

They stalk you, like prey
like quarry
bounty
trophy

They cage you

You sit there
looking on as they feed
as they exile

Their hands, covered in maggots

They talk;
nothing happens.
They talk;
someone’s intrigued.
They talk;
you look away
They talk;
she listens
They talk;
he dies
They talk;
they laugh,
applaud.

They sit

They feast

They hunger for more