Beneath a rippling surface

People thrive in circles,

Around and unfazed

By the rising bubbles

–

Most are comfortably sunk

For months and for years

Never mind the scalding walls

Of their iron cauldron

–

A scream resounds too late

When their world foams over

And they float away in silence

To the riotous brine

–

The cold and empty cauldron,

Is filled again

With another savory batch

Satisfied in their plight