Saturday, January 18, 2014
Conversation about Lunch
I ask you what you want for lunch.
Your eyes widen and I see you
in your muddy little hands. Your wheelbarrow
outside the door holds a cupful of dirt
and four weeds.
Braised steak, you answer.
But in the mornings I write!
You turn on a resolution to do it yourself.
Hastily I submit an offer: leftover pork roast
reheated in gravy with peas but it’s too late.
A small prayer sent out goes unanswered
and no buttered shrimp, sherry trifle, or chicken pie
today or tomorrow will fill it.
The lips unpuckered move on.