hanker

salt beef on a
plain bagel,

hot mustard,
damp pickles,
I barely tasted
any of it.

the beef was tough,
the mustard stung
my fingers,
I wanted to cry some more
but didn’t have it
in me.

fuck the diet,
I want carbs.
I want fat and salty
ruin.
I want my veins
to pump syrup
until that sugar coma
hits hard,
hits home
and then keeps on
throwing punches.

salt beef
that refused to shred
between my teeth,
mustard that stained
my shirt.
a faint heat that
threatened to distract me
for one sumptuous
moment
but could not work its magic
on my coward soul.