Poetry

FEED

FEED

by Dee Allen

This ain’t no charity.
This is a protest.
Supermarkets, hotels,
Eateries, coffeeshops
Make waste out of fresh & prepared
Food, tonnes, at day’s end.
This ain’t no church function.
This is a protest.
Bullets, assault rifles, tanks,
Aeroplanes, destroyer ships, bombs
Make far-away lands killing fields.
National budget spent mostly on this, forget homes.
This ain’t no city programme.
This is a protest.
Hunger tends to exist
In the First World, too.
So food is recovered
From rotting as waste.
This ain’t no welfare line.
This is a protest.
Ongoing against military build-up,
Gearing up for war, nights and days
Dining from empty plates, drinking from empty cups,
Sleeping on empty bellies, dreaming of a decent meal.
Revolution sometimes begins from
The bottom of a bowl.
Public space gets reclaimed.
That space becomes inclusive.
Fresh, prepared, free
Vegetarian food is shared with neighbours.
Afterwards, workers & poor alike leave
The corner with fuller bellies.
Hunger is much worse on the streets.
So some do what class society fails to do:
Feed the people.
Food to every fork.
This ain’t no charity.
This is a protest.

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Categories: Poetry

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