Spilt Milk and The Moon

The Random Question

a river of hunger.
a baby's open trusting mouth.
empty.

Twenty minutes vanish
bottles, tubes
and milk dripping.
Smaller than tear drops
I count two thousand before
I reach 4 ounces.
Now, we are both starving,
the baby and I.

Illogical sympathy for cows.
Breast pump pulling,
humming, sucking.
Vow to become vegan.
But, the stomach sings,

"beef! beef!
and tiny little lambs!
wring the chicken's neck!
feed me bowls of clams!"