FAMISHED
Hungry,
she
is
hungry.
What
to
devour
next?
Some
Chekhov,
a
bit
of
Tolstoy,
a
tease
of
Buber?
A
beast
she
is,
great
gobs
of
ideas,
clawed
at
then
chewed
Finally,
swallowed
in
grand
chunks
At
the
multiplex
showing
a
foreign
language
movie
She
goes
after
the
subtitles,
then
the
images
Patrons
want
their
movie
back,
the
screen
in
tatters
She
comes
to
be
hated,
why
all
this
learning?
After
all
they
ask
what
do
you
do
with
all
this
stuff?
Show
us
a
job,
a
career,
a
profession
and
she
laughs
Says
I
do
architecture
and
chomps
on
a
new
wave
chair
The
crowd
runs
from
her
fearful
that
once
home
She
might
devour
their
rarely
used
dining
room
Terrorist
they
say,
put
her
away
and
she
laughs
again
I
turn
to
her
say
I
too
am
hungry,
always
have
been
Then
let’s
eat
she
says
and
we
feast
on
my
books
of
poems
Begin
with
Frost,
linger
on
Neruda,
then
finally
Yeats
Then
we
look
at
each
other
still
hungry
I
offer
half
of
my
head,
she
half
of
hers
Jaws
chomping
happily
and
not
a
bit
of
waste
And
heaven
had
never
Seen
the
likes
of
it
What
beasts
are
those?
an
angel
cries
They
play
without
rules
18