Ackee Soup

By Giggles Anderson

Another tasty meal,
gone without slaughter.
Remember when you speak,
One can not make good soup
with dirty water.

Go out
with pure heart,
and open mind,
gather up the friendliest ackee
you can find.

Come back after
your soul has been wrung
and wrought,
by a frantic stream
of your self-censored thoughts.

Bring your yellow friends,
to an angry boil.
Temper and torture,
with a stained,
less-stolen fork.

Mash their little heartbeats out.

Turn down the heat,
add the yellow-bellied slop back in.
Toss in red cubes of tomato,
few pimento balls,
a clove of garlic– Stick a pin:

To calm your inner child,
those demons how they play?
Choking your life organ
with piano wires
all day.

Stop!

Take a swig of London dry gin.

Don’t be a chicken
add a few pieces in.
Tasting cock
in this soup
is not a mortal sin.

A few pinches of flour,
so your soup won’t be thin.
Cut a dozen onions,
a good excuse to cry.
Roses? They’re useless, they eventually die.

Tell the truth,
say how you feel.
As you stir the dutch pot,
Honor your Self
You are all you’ve got.

If your belly starts to move,
and holler in fright,
stir in heavy cream,
Taking holy comfort,
you’re doing alright.

Ackee Soup is ready to serve.

Get the ladle moving
keep your feelings in sight.
Never mind the salt,
uninvited tears will spice
each spoonful and bite.

Anecdotes from the host,
The scotch bonnet never bust.
The guests are entertained.
Selling tickets from here on in
is an absolute must.

Fresh ideas get tossed about.
Ginger beer or Guiness stout?
How about a thick slice of
Mommy’s cornmeal pudding?
Coffee service for eight.

Pat your belly down. For Dinner,
like a king’s Procession,
has come and passed by.
No spy or noblewoman was poisoned
by a mashed up ackee lie.

Another tasty meal,
gone without slaughter.
Remember when you speak,
One can not make good soup
with dirty water.