Future Soup

Everyone can taste my special soup.
Not The Soup of the Day, but The Soup of Tomorrow.

Look! How it bubbles with every colour—
a pot of melted rainbow
spitting out steam that sparkles
and spins the wings of turbines.

Listen! The fairground of fans is humming,
turning a magnificent motor
whirring and stirring magnets
in everlasting orbits of warmth.

Smell! A whiff of clouds is brewing,
rivers of broth froth to life,
something delicious is stewing
with the zing of pure sunlight.

Taste! Sip your first spoonful—
a bubbly bath coats your tongue,
cosier than hooded jumpers,
sweeter than bees can buzz.

Feel! It flows down inside you,
as sleepy as a kitten.
But wait—it floats up too,
funny space food in ribbons

doing loop-the-loop into hungry mouths
gulping Future Soup and laughing out loud.