Settlement

The hospital kept two ledgers,
new gloss and old neglect.
Hunger sent me to the older one.

I pushed the walker out ahead,
four rubber tips finding purchase,
bearing what I could not.

The machine stood,
dull glass, tired coils
holding sandwiches in triangles,
their edges browned
like paper left in a file.

I fed it notes.
It dropped the packet low
and made me bow for it,
that small descent,
the body settling its account
nerve by nerve.

Salt. Grease. Soft bread.
A stale middle.
Nothing fresh in any of it.

Then back through the corridor,
the walker taking the weight,
pain tapping time in the tiles,
the food lodged under my ribs
like wet paper.

The hunger stayed.

F.S.F.