Running to the table this morning in a hard sprint
Weaving between one sibling and another, I seemed,
Still asleep, to be lost in Hunger
And there the familiar foe was
In a shape, little resembling ham
The succulent pork just sitting in
The delicious juices and utensils

I looked around for my mother
She wasn’t there. So I could dig in
Should I eat it violently? Indulge myself… slowly?
What if I got caught eating it? The fork
of my stomach fought with the napkin of my conscience
It was hard to hold myself back, and act polite
From that crystal clear image
that my mother always mentioned.

With the house all quiet, except for my mother’s snoring
A little drool trickled to down my lip
And reminded me of the enticing ham
Until I could wait no more
Why hadn’t I eaten it yet?
A second look and I dug in
The ham, juicy, watering in my mouth
Fixing me to the succulent taste.

I knew I shouldn’t be eating the family’s ham
But to leave it, no matter my hunger.
Now nervousness, now succulent desire, now guilt
Guilt signaling how many un lost pounds
One form now another
Like pig fat stored deep in my belly,.
Outliving time with a luscious aftertaste, like only pork can