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

———————–
Haiku
———————–

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

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