Fri, 08/12/2022 - 15:30 -- elwhite

It is like a pot of soup on fire

Boiling above a thousand degrees

Yet it was just meant for warming

But no one cares


Firewood burning unevenly

North boiling hard

While South just steams low

But the cooks care not


The soup was tasty the previous night

In this kitchen

Soups taste best the next day

But this is reckless


The smell is in the air


The last time we got here was bitter

The firewood burned out

The soup was almost thrown

And the chefs acted late


It is at a brink

The brew must be checked

The soup must not be thrown away


This is Africa

The chefs must step aside

Our mother be summoned

They are redeemers of burned food

Else we will go hungry



This poem is about: 
My community
My country


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