Pie Poem by Ima Ryma

I watched a woman make some pies,
In a place where food was not found,
Where starvation was no surprise.
The pies were laid out on the ground.
Hungry people began to come
To barter with the woman for
The chance to maybe leave with some
Of the pie. They all were so poor.
I turned and quickly walked away,
No longer feeling touristy.
I'd had pie earlier today,
When I wasn't really hungry.

For most of us pie is dessert.
But some must eat a pie of dirt.