The cats yowl, wait for me to sit up.
They nudge my heels as I plod to the kitchen,
scoop forkfuls of their canned food into dishes.
Their eating is not leisurely. It is frantic, high-speed,
food into mouth, into throat, into stomach.
The toaster and the coffee maker crowd round
the outlet, black plugs reaching out like tails.
If it cannot feed itself, it waits to be fed,
whines or beeps or glows plaintively. Without gas,
a car locks up, tires planted into asphalt.
Without power, the cell phone is just a plastic box.
It is harder to recognize hunger, in others.