This is the schematic for a narrative about hunger spread out on a table

First there were the peaches, then the sugar,

then the missed call from the hospital --

twenty seven yellow taxis later the soft breathing

of a schematic for a narrative of hunger

blooms in Robin for the first time,

and hollering triumphant Greek down the one aisle

of the only market within walking distance of her apartment that sells fish

Robin informs the linoleum and dairy

that the story of her father’s post-radiation physique

is really the story of Moby Dick.

Halfway through the halibut, her trashcan is full,

and the schematic for a narrative of hunger (spread out on the table) is

burdened under purple rings,

and the wine gone,

and the boyfriend (ex) phoned and hung up on,

and the goldfish curious,

and the below and above neighbors

in halfway-daydreams about the little noises

through the floorboards.

The upstairs neighbor turns the volume knob.

The downstairs neighbor remembers that you can’t daydream after dark,

and you can’t daydream when the only market

close to your apartment that sells

produce has combusted into a fizzle of Eurekas

with no sugar left for you, and no peaches, and no fish,

and begins to write a few lines

about hunger,

and a schematic for a narrative about hunger.