"Would you like more," she says, standing so proudly in front of the boy,
with a spoon in one hand and a pot in the other of the night's repast.
"Yes," he answers, no please to be found, no ma'am, no thank you
mother. It is unimportant, it is lost, she feeds him more.
Platter piled high with spoonful after spoonful, he cannot help but gorge himself
on her food, on her hospitality.
"Is it good? Do you want more? How about another steak? A growing boy needs to eat!"
And he does not even need to speak this time, for she knows, she knows,
more is necessary, more is given.
"Eat, my boy, because you are growing, and a growing boy needs all of the food he can get!"
But one day, the boy will be a man, and the food will be his life.
Let the fire consume you.