Starvation

Starvation The road to Lagos is long and dry. Why I walk it, I do not know, With this dying child of mine Hooked into my arms. The vegetation Mocks me with its scant, green teeth. I have tried to eat the red earth and the stones, To make a little milk drop from my teats, But the rancid nectar does not come. I am glad the little one has given up His crying, glad the saucers of his eyes Glint with the light of other worlds. This one cannot nourish or sustain Even misery. I do not feel emotions Anymore, just the muffled echos of my Footsteps, disappearing in the fruitless bush. This road is but a pathway in the desert Where no food grows. Where are the machete men, to cut me down? I am not even worth the stroke. I bare no meat. And I realize, there is no Lagos It is a fable made by men. I will dance before it, my son's taught belly Shall be my drum. There is only one city and it is called 'Starvation', where hunger rules alone, Like some great chief, bringing forth A festival of skeletons. They lie beneath the flesh, Lively and immune from grief. Carl Estrin