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