The Meat’s Gym - Poem by Eromo Egbejule
Running the relays,
Stunting in a sea of sweet smells,
Exercising its fleshy structure
And softening its texture:
The meat’s gym
Is my pot of soup.
Morning, noon and nightfall,
The gym opens at these shifts.
Up and down and left and right,
‘Tis doing its dying rites.
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