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.