The Memory of A Dream

All through the meal I struggled not to look at you
with the same eyes I’d been using this past year and a half,
trying my best to ignore how badly behaved your children were at the table.

How easily led mine was.

The fact that you were nearly half an hour late still rankling
as we sat down to eat from the big white plates I’d bought that day.
I’d even given myself less than the children, worrying
there wouldn’t be enough to go round.

So we ate and we scolded, the children not really paying us that much attention.
At opposite ends of the table, the mother and father of this unruly brood.

Tuesday 5th of June 2007

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