Day 714

Chase the food as it falls
parachuted from the sky.
Chase it across the charred field,
chase it into the sea. It’s only
a sack of flour, a few cans
of diced chicken, but see
if you can get there
before the others.  An old man
is trying to run
with his cane, a boy
stumbles with weakness. You
pick up three cans, give each of them
one, keep one for yourself,
knowing it won’t feed your family,
knowing you’ll have to return
tomorrow. Risk one more time
the sniper’s bullet, the airdrop
falling on top of you, crushing
the bones in your body
that haven’t eroded yet.