Just a Bagel

He chews it slow,

that dry round bread,

right there across the desk

where my own gut is dead.

My stomach turns a slow

grind inside my clothes.

A hollow drum, a deep

pull, no one knows.

A clench beneath the ribs,

a kind of suction, tight.

He sips his coffee, oblivious.

The taste of air, not light.

My jaw aches, a dull hum.

His teeth tear, small crumbs fall.

My hunger's not a want

but a hard, thin wall.