Missionary Sweets

Dust red eyes

huddle in charcoal smoke

under a Jacaranda tree.

Our matatu taxi

has already passed this glow,

and now another,

blackened corn and bananas

grilled with plastic ash.

We bump and slow, 

candy tossed like doves in the air

above good toothless soil.

The street boys clamor,

soap and tea to follow,

the heart built bridge

of international impact,

is brightly wrapped

and sugared.

"Suffer the little children",

we didn't know then

what we need to know now.

Bright as a lion, a single smile

fills our open window,

no longer Fatherless,

the future gains a Name.