The Taste of Bread
I can hear them with their laughter
dinig on their wine and steak
hunger has to wait 'til after
doors are closed to fill my ache.
I hide inside the dumpster green
like the garbage, unaware
until the grubby hands are seen
throwing in my daily fare.
The echoed footsteps fade away
silently I open bags
what have they brought for me this day-
this crumpled soul in dirty rags?
Bones with gristle, rice pilaf
some beans and cold potatoes
there's meat that they did not chew off
and slimy wet tomatoes.
The foul smells that I notice not
as I keep hunger at bay
would make another lose their lot
but I'll live another day.
Survival is my only goal
but I would give instead
my heart and yes, my crumpled soul
for the tatse of fresh baked bread.
Copyright © Curt Mongold