Jan 9, 20231 min read

Need not Greed

Updated: Jan 11, 2023

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

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