When they opened him up, they spotted
In his stomach cavity, a vacuum.
He’d told them it was there
But no one believed him.
They knew what had been there
They saw the scar where the cord had been cut,
It retracted upon touch,
The shame still so real.
Around his bed, they gathered to consider the options.
“We could fill it with stuffing,” said one
“Counsel him, he might adopt a replacement,” the hopeful one suggested.
“He’s long in the tooth now,” explained another.
“Does he really want to go down that path again?” asked the wise one.
They pondered the emotional hole
What might be best?
He’d have to face the fact he was past it now
He’d had chances in life and blown them all
There was a limit to the emotion allotted to him.
One then touched his hand, felt it tighten,
He still craved the human touch.
“Best let him heal,” said the headman.
So they left him, knowing he might or might not
Seek love again; find cause to fill the vacuum.
His past record was grim in itself
They didn’t hold much hope.