On a moonless night the Loner awakens by some
stirring
in his stomach and decides to go strolling around the Cross
Roads.
As
he walks he mumbles to himself. All of a sudden he stumbles
over
something. It is the sleeping body of the Wretch.
He
grumbles and turns around to continue his sleep.
“I
never knew this is where the Wretch sleeps.
Isn’t
the poor fool freezing out on
these plains?”
Not
too fussed about the comfort of the Wretch, the Loner
walks
back to the Cross Roads. As the sun is rising he reaches
his
pile of rocks. He fumbles through his little heap of earthly goods.
“What
do I have to do to get something to eat? I’m so tired of
this
hunger. I don’t know how the others stay alive.”
As
the sun is revealing its full splendour the Carillon
commences her jolly morning song.
“Oh
shut up, you blingy belly thing!” shouts the groggy Cave-Dweller.
“Can’t
we just for once sleep the day away?”
“Argh,
shut your own trap!” the Prehistoric Postal Agent hits back.
The
Cave-Dweller clearly in a scurrilous mood reveals
what
everyone has been thinking about:
“We
have been here for time immemorial
depleted
all our food. There are no more roots, bulbs, fruit,
seeds,
nuts
I
have lost all my energy and lust for life.”
“Thank
Godot someone else is also thinking about their stomachs!”
the
Loner vociferates.
Up
until now no-one knew that the Loner has been rationing
his
He
takes it out from under his pile of rocks and lovingly rolls
the
pink fruit in his palms. As salivation starts forming on
everyone’s
lips, the Wretch comes plodding over the plains from
his
cold and exposed sleeping spot and eyes the feeding proceedings
with
great interest.
Unlike
his non-sharing nature,
guava
into four miniscule pieces and hands
four
other denizens of the Cross Roads.
“Oh,
someone is in a generous mood.” the Anarchist glibly sputters out.
The
Loner, stung to the quick, snatches the guava piece from
the
Anarchist’s hand.
“You
don’t deserve my giving spirit!” the Loner cries out.
“I
want that piece!” screams out the Wretch. “I have been here
for
much
The
Carillon chimes in “What about me?
No one ever thinks of my
alimentary needs!”
The links to the previous five Cross Roads poems >
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-crossroads.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-crossroads-ii.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-cross-roads-iii.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-cross-roads-iv.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-cross-roads-v.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-crossroads-ii.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-cross-roads-iii.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-cross-roads-iv.html
http://laraafrika.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-cross-roads-v.html
