Screened in on your back porch—
you big and boring people
who just learned my name
while milling in the foyer
after service.
Now I’m stuck all afternoon
at your house
because someone has to
feed the visiting pastor.
Photo Courtesy of Matt Gruber via creationswap.com
Under mom’s silent eye
I fork a bitter, leafy ball.
Chew and swallow.
Chew and swallow.
Victory.
She nods and looks away.
This somebody’s grandfather
drones on, keeping time
with the walnut clock
whose ticking marches down the hall.
If only I could be anywhere,
everywhere else,
but here.
