Old News: Hungry animals devour,
unaffected by consuming aesthetic.
Consider compound verb, ‘wolf down’.
Get it into you asap or possibly lose it.
Lone male, who may think I lust
for his lunch, takes three bites then
masticates mammoth toasted egg,
tomato, cheese and onion sandwich.
(Overheard ordering) Always three,
then machine chewing, swallowing and
slurping tea. He sluices to augment juices.
Beach brunch has his undivided, despite
restless sea, rowdy clouds, passers-by
who have no intention of grabbing
any part of heaped feast squeezed
between grilled pieces of bread.
Middle-aged, well-dressed, fop-
pish hair, roguish moustache yet,
when he arrives at final corner
of each half, he shoves it into the
crowded cave. Packs it in as if
there’s a chance his offensive
might be lost by lingering.
Evening news will be dominated
by reports of ill economy, rapacious
viruses, violent politics and football
which is war writ bite-size.
Food for thought but maybe not
for this observer who will still
be digesting the profound scene
that just keeps repeating. Onions.
Rare Sighting of Wolfdownman:
a very real revelation was at hand
and will now be working its way
through my mind and his bacteria-
filled guts and then beyond.
Allan Lake, a stray from Allover, Canada, now writes poetry in Allover, Australia. Latest chapbook of poems, ‘My Photos of Sicily’, published by Ginninderra Press, 2020.