At the dinner table I sat
And I wept
As I swirled the soup
I had no intention of eating
Or drinking
Or having at all
But to slosh it around
And perhaps splash it about
Your table
As I sat
And wept
And made quite the mess
Didn’t i?
And I would ask,
Don’t you like the soup?
As you ate it
With intentions that were never your own
To feed a hunger created in you by another’s starvation
And your guilt over that
Which was never your own
And so we sat
And I wept
And you ate
While I sloshed
And now all that’s left
Is to say
I’m sorry I spilled the soup.

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