The Cooking Pot! Poem by Eric Cockrell

tastes like....
rainwater on my tongue,
blood drawn from unclaimed bodies....

the wind lapping at my curtain,
the candle flickering in the dark.
gunpowder, and bourbon!

the baby's bloom opening,
rose petals 'neath my tongue.
pepper spray, and human rights....

the damp chill of the small cell.
the burning bush, the last refrain,
yesterday's nails long driven....

food scavanged from dumpsters,
the back seat on the bus....
the old woman dying on the floor!

life thrown together in the cooking pot,
left to simmer unattended....
shared in bowls made of flesh,

and dreams now long forgotten!