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.