! The Hunger Without A Name Poem by Michael Shepherd

The hunger, even felt
by the adequately clothed,
the adequately fed, the
adequately housed..

the hunger without a name,
a smell, a taste,
without an image, without
an advertising agency
to shape it for us; quietly
whimpering, whining at the door
to be let in and fed;

is it something we’ve never had?
distantly remember
like a childhood happiness?
or have, but want much more of?

and if a good fairy passed
and said, I can offer you only
one of these three things:

to be almost always happy;
to understand almost everything;
or to live almost forever…

which one would we choose? and
would the hunger be assuaged?