Monday's Supper
Monday's Supper
The boy's heart dance's:
a trance
at noon.
Then he yawns
like a cock's
crow,
with a thin smile.
Picking his teeth,
wishing the night
fell in the sea.
Sea turtles, once eaten a year,
made by his dear
mother;
when she tarried at the haff with fish nets
and livid scarves
feigning, hissing... hoping
to seize a whale.
The boy is a vagabond:
trained with a bow
and arrow
to scurry on this land
till the sun dies.
Hunger became a muse
as he snoozes
beneath the frenzy clouds;
The wind gathered wood fragments
--a match from his
bottom,
''Cocoyams emerged"
Then he finds
himself dressed in his
Mother's
kitchen.
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