deepundergroundpoetry.com

A feed

tomato soup
I need to make tomato soup
for my friend Jim & for me

easy eating food
painless
good for us

two tins of tomato's
tin of potato's
one tin of peas garlic & oil

'how decadent' I think
brewing the mix
'I am cooking' drifts through my thoughtless head

'this must be what its all about
& not boozing
no, not the heavy heavy crazed drinking...the madness'

I hear myself running from my own life
running right out the door, down through the flats
out into the dirty battered street to start screaming, crying out

'is it just me that has no fuckin desire to fight the war?'
just no desire
desire for bullets, money, missiles, oil and guns

and the school kids wander through the waste, the noise to school
past their mum and dad in the chemist for the methadone
while the soup putt putts on Jim's gas stove, doing its own thing

doing its own thing
hiding with its eyes shut way down in the steel pot
trying, determined to be tomato soup