by Jennifer Fenn
A man treks home,
Leading his donkey,
Loaded with grain sacks
From aid workers
Finally allowed in.
The deep creases in his face
Slightly unfold
At his visions of baked bread
For his rib-thin child,
Fed only on wild fruit.
He breathes deeply,
Anticipating its aroma.
But how can he bake it
If he can't get fuel for the fire?
He looks down,
Burdened by the weight
Of empty pockets.
A tattered newspaper
With Mugabe's picture
Gets blown across the dirt road.
He picks it up and grins.
Tonight, he'll have his fire!
Jennifer Fenn’s poetry has appeared in National Catholic Reporter, The Pink Chameleon, Amaze: The Cinquain Journal, and is scheduled to appear in Samsara and The Poet's Art.
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