Updated: Jan 11
The bike laid down by gingham, cod,
a casual cloth, cool baby milk,
the menu depends appetite
or toddle by, just curious.
So spot the dress, doze, headscarf, face,
discarded ball, newspaper waste,
quick drag, a cuddle, baby hug,
slow swig from bottle, dummies, clasp.
The stove for meths, pump paraffin -
why not a thermos, all this fuss -
our kettle, tea cups, where is brewed
a mixed community at large.
Fish from the Lakeside chippy, wrapt
as heard the word declared on sward,
started as food-share little lad,
scraps from wee scrap who offered catch.
Miracle hunger, battered, but
it took one son to break the fast;
he risked his all, his mother’s ire,
a simple kindness multiplied.
Is that a nappy on the grass,
diaper maybe, foreign grass,
or maybe, if today, a mask,
what is uncovered in the son?
This hear, is not magician’s trick,
nor a white bunny from top hat;
small portions from the global store,
need not greed the steer achieved.
Companions, eating chips on hill,
food, friendship, altered, open air,
for be, belong, believe if will -
that’s what this picnic brings to us.
The Five Thousand by Eularia Clarke (Britain) 1962
from the Methodist Modern Art Collection © TMCP, The Methodist Church in Britain, used with permission. www.methodist.org.uk/artcollection
Published by The Ekphrastic Review https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic/need-not-greed-by-stephen-kingsnorth