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By Orla Fay
The aroma of frying food fosters appetite
and curiosity of origin, some primeval response coded –
the raising of a spear, the scattering of birds
on a wide sun-scorched plain, a tree, silhouette acacia
and a setting Serengeti sun, the going in for the kill
and later roasting wildebeest above a crackling fire,
dinner wafting all through the valley
beneath blackberry and pin-pricked pocketed sky,
ever changing and ever moving earth.
And here, now, in the bustling daylit city
a homeless man is cooking chicken nuggets
on a small propane stove by a wall
at the back of a row of houses.
Carefully he works, going from plastic bag
to plastic bag, baby wipes at the ready,
a paper plate and some sturdy cutlery
as a dishevelled crow, drunk in the heatwave
looks for a morsel.
Due to an increase in submissions we are now closed for new submissions for the Poem of the week, Unbound and New Voices section of the website. We will still accepting interview, essay and article proposals. Check out the website for future updates.