Suburban Soup Kitchen Poem by Shane Markie

'Here, the suburbs begin their winter
soups and bread, kitchen smells

leaking out into the abandoned playgrounds
whose swift intrigues

and configurations of exclusion and grace
dissolve in the brothy call to home.' ~Lynne McMahon~

Say,
you're never gonna believe
this.

Mornings,
no one goes hungry here,
provided

You
show yourself in all your good graces as a reflection of God's
glory

Early,
so this means say approximately around 4: 30 a.m. some wintry
weekday