The Brew
I wake in the morning
To the sounds
Of wild beasts —
Or the rain pattering
On my makeshift roof
Sheets of plastic and metal
Gathered from the jungle
I am glad
To be awake, listening —
To the wind, the insects
Yet I must rise —
To mend the leaky roof
To keep the animals away
From my sleeping children
All day
I wander the jungle
Gathering bark and leaves
To bring home at night —
To place in the pot
Over a small fire
As I sit and smoke
My children, my wife
The dogs and hens
Birds and insects —
All speak
I listen —
Or don’t, and only wonder
How to fix the roof
Tomorrow
People gather
Asking for medicine
For philosophy —
The brew
In the pot
And I wonder —
What world
Do they live in
Then I rise
Pour each a cup
They drink —
Sit, or lie down
I drink my cup
Sit, smoke, and sing —
All that I hear
For them to hear
Until they sleep —
Or wake —
To the same sounds —
Rain pattering
Wind rustling
The distant chirp
Of crickets