Soup Kitchen
He says his ma has six kids,
as if he usually tells that to
people who don’t even ask.
Sometimes, the potato slime
doesn’t seem as coarse, less
like pulp and more like a
mash. But when he asked for
it, it looked like gunk: like a
torrent of muck, gushing and
trickling, under broken trees,
under execrating birds. He looked
like an average boy, ten
years old, his pants at his
thighs. He says his ma has
six, six kids, but he didn’t say
that she wasn’t married, that
she had him when she was still
in school, that all she’s seeing,
eyes cocked at six small faces,
is indiscernible, racing pale
potatoes, the crack and weed
images tattooed on her arms and
in her eyes. He says his ma has
six, six kids, and that they’re all
susceptible to a nightly beating,
to a drag of pot, to a life of crime.
If only I was old enough to adopt
six sickly kids, (who are now somewhere
rotting, where? where? where?)
I am a child from a moneyed
family, where the honey flows like
water and the milk pours like rain.
I, in my crumpled apron and gloves,
am a poster boy for suburbity, sobriety
and clean, healthy school grades
and clean, healthy households, from
discipline and control, a white egg
in the middle of rottenness. Six?
Six, when compared to a hundred,
is a miniscule quantity: but for
me, it was infinity, it was implausible,
it was riotous. I scooped the slime
with a plastic spatula, and splat on
his plastic plate, all for a plastic
thank you, and he returned to his
plastic table. Six kids. Six kids. Six kids.
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This is a great poem, but you really need to break up the stanzas in better places. Finish the thought before taking it to the next stanza. It will make it flow better. Stanzas are supposed to signify to the reader when they are supposed to pause for breath and rhythm.
Break it up better and it will be great!
This was touching. I've never went to a soup kitchen before but your poem sent me there so I was watching everything happened as I read your entry.
Strong word choice: riotous, implausible, sobriety, susceptible.
Only one comment on grammar:
I would omit the comma because it isn't necessary.
Else than that, I repeat, your poem came from the heart and it was moving. Good job and *clicks a gold star*.
That was deep.
This is one of these meaningful poems that make people think about their lives. Gadi., more people need to think like you. I loved this poem. It's a eye-opener.
This is a good poem, it had heart.
Just to comment a little on the style of the poem, at the beginning of the poem you let the lines hang and you finished the thought at the next line. I actually liked this, it seemed somewhat uncertain- much like the kid's situation and life really. When you switch to the personal/author's point of view the lines get a bit clearer, but it still has the uncertain sadness about it. I don't know if this was intentionally, but I thought it was beautiful and fitting. Sorry I can't give any critical feedback.
I don't think "execrating" is a word. Did you mean excreting?

Other than that, magnificent job!
*falls over*
Oh my goodness, this is beautiful. I love it! It almost made me cry. I know how that feels to walk into a soup kitchen and feel almost ridiculously blessed. Very nice.
Jolly good thing, this. I'll quickly say that the 'six' to 'hundred' reference in stanza 13-14 didn't make sense to me.
Also I'd like to know whether stanzas 2-5 were meant to give the impression they gave me. Especially S5, where you say 'his pants at his thighs'. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but with the clever background of gunk, slime, muck, gushing etc. I got the feeling that you were giving a graceful description of defecation like James Joyce.
When you began on 'I am a child from a moneyed family....', I was quite sure you'd move into uncomfortable ground but you handled it well. And yet I'd rather say you edit it.
And to top it off I caught you with a grammatical. There's no word as 'suburbity'. In fact, on googling, your poem comes up as the third result. It should be suburbanity there, right? And if you really fed that kid, it was awfully kind of you.
Great to have read this. Look forward to more.