this here crokpot has no lid.
it does not cook but soaks
the stew till dawn. what shall
we do to stop it from spilling
uncooked bits into the twitter
bird? we could cut the mouth
of the twitter bird while we look
for the lid, and then sit on top and
secure the top with a pillow and
sit still and make sure the beak
of the bird never opens till the
stew is ready and the crestfallen
bird is ready to twit no more. just
make sure your bottom does not
get cooked into a wasted stew for
that would be really funny for bird
plus bottom would mean we are equal
at the bottom of the hill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Where is that orange lid? I really enjoyed this poem. Yes, it is about politics and poignant realities. But there is fine humour. Well done, Sarah.