Hungry one
Patrick T. Reardon
Hungry one tells me what to do.
Edge brick wall to doorway. Soft up steps.
Leave open escapes. Set up peripherals.
Hungry one sets my alarm
— sharp flashes of flesh and sinew before motion.
I hug to my chest.
Hungry one is a jealous god.
My twin knows when I sit and when I stand.
I am where he is.
Times, I must needs corner Hungry One.
Listen him to reason. Listen him.
Times, I must needs encase Hungry One
in deep-sea suit to keep him quiet —
no matter the extra weight on my back.
He neither sows nor does he reap.
Back, before, he saved me
with his lust and thirst, his yearn and yen.
He dragged me to flee
the prison I was born into.
He showed me how to
burrow under the aluminum-siding fence,
dodge the searchlights of constant night,
distract the commandants with grovel acquiescences.
We are always escaping.
Patrick T. Reardon
9.11.26
This poem originally appeared in Fauxmoir Lit Mag, Issue I, Winter 2021
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.