Corinne Curcio Poet Narrative

Scavenger

While wearing the garb 
Of a twenty year old
On a 50 something body
Her eyes rove hungrily,
Spotting her quarry
She pounces upon
The daily newspapers
Left by a prior denizen
Of the local coffee bar

Every word on every page
Is ravenously devoured
The lives of others
Happy or horrid
Fills her empty hours 
Pouring over her soul
Like so many lattes
Prepared by bored baristas

When she's had her fill
She stows the carcasses 
Under her cushions
Guarding them
For later gnawing 
And when our eyes meet
She knows I lie in wait
For her to vacate the seat
So I can pick the bones clean

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Daver Austin January 29, 2009 at 10:56 AM I had to look up barista. I was such a person during my college days. Hey, I like your stuff! You have a sense of humor and a style. I shall explore more of your writing. Love, daver