by barb howe
We who are born hungry
do not know it.
We do not know
that there is war here
and despair shatters the night
and the bodies of children.
A world falls apart for lack of bread.
We have coffee and biscuits
in the broken morning
and watch the green flicker of wars
fill our tv screens
and we do not remember
the emptiness
of hunger.
There is war here.
Still.
And no one knows who the enemy is.
When men and women go to war
only their shadows remain.
The bakeries stay open into the night
churning out loaves.
We fish them out of dumpsters
And eat in alleyways and gutters.
There is war here.
Daily.
And no one knows the name of hunger
because there is so much of it
A world falls apart
For lack of bread.