soup kitchen in three parts

“Hot meals and utensils”

Every Sunday, at the local Methodist church, after the 9:30 service, a group of volunteers, most from the church, but not all, went downstairs. Below the vestry and the waterline – the basement had been resealed last month – there was a kitchen, a storage room with long folding tables, chipped and battered, not unlike the congregation; still serviceable, needing replacement parts, too expensive for now. Long years of practice, a gracious ballet, chores done willingly, yet, every Sunday, there was more to do and less to offer. By 11:30, the side door opened, the line, patient; seamed faces, ragged cuffs, whimpering babies, vacant stares waiting, waiting for a free meal: for most, the only food of the day.

“Hot meals and utensils”

more to do
less to offer
always patient
they waited
every Sunday
a free meal
long folding tables
chipped and battered
they waited
only food of the day


free meal they waited
more to do less to offer
long folding tables

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