Mouldy Pork

From the fridge mouldy pork,
leftover from last weeks meal.
Not enough for the table.
She wraps it up
goes out the door
calls behind her, 
“Off for a walk, 
back in a mo’.”

Down neighbourly path 
beside winding stream
a footbridge, she arrives.
She waits, 
watches stream ripples,
tosses bits of mouldy pork, 
her face beams cathartic delight.

Two slimy silvery grey eels rise,
eat mana from heaven,
the swarm gather,
kith and kin 
she feeds them all.

No more pork, 
the swarm divides, 
slides under weed out of sight.
She leans over the bridge,
one last look, 
home she goes
with elegant gait
 and joyful eyes.

© 2022 Craig A Roberts
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