I heard it announced on the radio yesterday that world hunger has decreased.

Only eight hundred million people don’t have enough to eat.

I kept driving: I don’t know why I didn’t pull over?

Grief, horror, and ruination!

Devastation!

Desecration!

Disambiguation!

Eight!

Hundred!

Million!

People!

Hungry?

 

This morning I cut my home-made banana bread thick.

I fill my coffee cup high.

I add milk.

Later in the day I will go out shopping, looking for blueberries, kale, almond milk, butternut squash, and also lean meat, blue corn taco shells, cilantro.

I may pick up some of the double chocolate covered peanuts I like so much.

 

Mad, mad, mad world — what is this numbing, numbered, not-knowing-knowing?

What is this crazy, chronic, crafty, killing contrast, this monumental, massive capacity for indifference, our gapping, gaping, going, going, gone unawareness of awareness.

What is the eating of delicacies in the same room as the starving?

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