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.
Comments about The Meat’s Gym by Eromo Egbejule
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You