Hungy
by Nina Dumornay
Time rolls away
on its side, slow and clumsy
cracking when it slides off a jut
in the great sloping steps and is lobbed stone against stone,
a concrete egg, a gravel baby.
I spot it lodged in the toes
of a wire fence, at the foot of someone else’s home, cold
to the touch and damp, I
cannot let it go
I squat there, off the side of the road, and grab at it with clammy hands
stuff it in my mouth quick
though it is dirty,
bitter, solid, and dense, I swish it around with my tongue, try to push it down but
it will not go, I
lock it away in the back corner of my cheek, against the side of my teeth, saliva pooling over my lips, Time
grinds against my gums, too heavy in my mouth to lift my head, I
cannot flee with it crowding my mouth, but
I do not spit it out, do not
let it go, it’s mine, mine, mine and
what’s more,
I see Wealth skittering
in the grass behind the fence, beyond the great stone steps
and wonder
how much further my cheeks will stretch, wonder where I’d be
with my tongue wrapped around them both, imagine
the heavy grit of Time against
the slick iron of cooling coin in my mouth, it’s too too too much to turn back now
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