the hunger

the news print
on your fingers
reminds you of
a time when you
awoke at five a.m.
in the cold
and went out
to cut the strings
on the two
bundles of
the daily post
that awaited you
on the corner
and after folding
each paper,
carried them
to porches along
your route.
the moon was still,
your breath a fresh
bloom of youth,
hungry, almost as
hungry as you
are now forty
years later.