☀ Today's Poem: "Gorge" Dion O'Reilly

I was always hungry,
no, I wanted to be fed,
no, not that,
I wanted to be filled
once and for all, a man
filling me, a huge man,
stuffed completely by a man.
None could, of course.
No one could.
They smelled something
on my breath, my need,
my arrogance.
Not arrogance,
derangement, thinking myself
supreme. Invulnerable. Royalty
to their temporary lust.
They knelt before me
before they took me
and left. I couldn't stop myself—
Four dozen brown-butter kringlers
from the Norwegian Bakery,
half a cherry pie
from The Marketime Grocery,
where it smelled like sausages,
and I kept bouncing checks.
I'd drive to an overlook
in Ballard, eat every bit
with a quart of milk.
I felt full, no, not full,
more like I might die
if I hit my stomach
against the steering wheel.
Looking out on the blue
of the Sound, I saw Mount Olympus,
with its mantle of ice—like a god
I couldn't talk to.
Sitting in my car, I saw an old man
walking in a southwester, his nylon parka
covering him completely,
a small black Scottie dog
on a leash. I was jealous of them,
the way they aimlessly
took their way through
the lawn and wet rhododendron.
Couldn't stand to look at them.
Climbed in the backseat.
Pushed a cottony tampon down my craw,
held it with a string.
Careful. No fingernail
to make my throat bleed.
I felt beautiful
when my stomach decanted,
concave under my fingertips.
No I didn't. I felt
like a lizard. When I breathed,
I smelled little pearls of vomit.
I felt hungry. No, I wanted to be fed,
no, I wanted a man. That's the way
I wanted it.