From the Fishouse

Escaped from God’s hidden zoo,
hunger takes up residence in you,
nibbling your patience, siphoning pride,
enjoying the warm wet conditions inside.

You tried to stop it (but were too slow).
You shouted for God (as if God didn’t know).
Now, you unclench and allow it to slither and shudder.
You feed it like a cow feeds its own udder.

If God had wanted his hunger back,
he needed to have split it from its snack
before I grew so fond of His pet
and it grew fond of me in secret.

Now, however, we’re a single creature,
neither it nor I, no student, no teacher.
Apologies, Boss, if there’s been a miscue.
There’s nothing left in this house to rescue.