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Serving


by David Ackley


 

The judge hands him a small packet

that says, “For later.”

He is consigned to a box with square holes.

 

Patience is mandated.

 

The light is doused. The dark is doused by

the light. He is thrown food and

throws it back.

 

This goes on until it doesn't

 

He forgets his family then decides

he never had one

 

 

There is a paucity of fauna

 

 

Time may or may not pass

 

 

The packet in his pocket is frayed

he decides “later," might be “now,”

and opens the packet to save it

 

It unfolds in even folds

across box, halls, blocks.

It adapts, blends, mimics,

abides, fills oceans with its emptiness

deserts with its waiting

 

he swallows his serving of time

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