I request the square metal dish
for my lunch. I bang the spoon
against the silver slop bowl
shouting More, more,
before even having a mouthful.
The woman who the older people call Janet
swings a soggy ladle in front of my bucked teeth
and a lumpy green waterfall flows.
It looks like sick and smells like home.
I’ve never seen a leek in solid form.
Rumour has it they look like truncheons
and a word I don’t understand.
© Carl Burkitt 2021