Behind the Dumpster

The pot was boiling over.

It was written on the ticket.

Order number given.

Everyone had added a little.

Death is best Seasoned

in dead of winter...

A dash of cardamon,

a touch of cinnamon,

a few chips of cedar.

All are welcome

at the Bazaar,

hurry and take

it in

from the street

windows

Flurries and

the scurry of feet.

Shovel the paths.

Tis the season.

A cup of cider,

A box of sweet meat

Smoke in the distance.

Bells are ringing...!

Jostling in the lines.

The man in navy cardigan

The woman in wheels,

The empty soup kitchen.

The child, frost bitten.

09.08.2023

Season's murder challenge @Obuck