TO LATE FOR TEARS

As her starving child lay dying in her skeleton like arms,

her tiny child whispered to her African mother

"Please mummy,is there nothing to eat?".

Looking at the at the vast arid wilderness all around her,

she told this fairy-tale to her dying child.

 

We have bayonet Pudding.

Or Bullet Pie.

We have half-track Pancakes.

And A-Bomb fries,

There is Gunship Stew.

A Toffee tank or two.

Blood bath dips.

With Religious nuts.

And Cluster Bombs.

Like Candy sticks

Big fat pigs.

You can not eat.

They lined their pockets.

With all your sweets

Chocolate soldiers.

Who rape and beat.

 

A grave she dug with bare hands.

That covered her child in African sands.

A single tear is all she shed.

As she nursed another one to her breast.

 

by

Peter Wicks

(For the children of Africa)