The songololo lies inside
the baking tin.
Ma tends the fire with a stick
and paraffin.
Sister chops onions while
Pa pours the oil.
Songololo retreats within
its black coil.
It begins to fry and surrenders
its legs.
Ma finishes it off with a scrape
of nutmeg.
The meal won't be tasty but
it'll be good.
For once I'm done eating
I'll walk as I once could.