Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
It's the Little Things
While Grandma made her famous fried chicken
The tiny hairs in her nostrils began to tingle and twitch
No holds barred in her own kitchen
She stuck her pointer finger deep
scratching the bothersome itch
She went left then right
Then round and round
Her finger steadily growing wet
"Hmm" her only sound
She plucked into the trash
She washed her hands and when the chicken
The greens, the potatoes were prepared
and done she made Grandpa's plate
She didn't have to do anything in that order
It's the little things
Written by Jill Scott
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