Over Billions Served

There are secret stirrings

in the womb of night.

Bitter gestations unfolding

into meaty mushrooms

spiraling toward the glare of neon

in search of warmth

and a cup of coffee.

Ever notice the grace of withered fingers

as they spider over the remains

left behind by overfed children?

Crumbs from a sugar crusted pie

offer small consolation against

cruel days that knife into empty bellies

waiting for the charity

of the seasonally guilty.