Bacon Boy
Our grandson Tony had never eaten bacon until he came to our house.
He was four, completely deprived, raised by parents who obviously did not care about him.
What is it? He asked us.
Bacon, and not that awful cardboard-tasting turkey crap.
That truly is what came out of my summer mouth, as I can cuss in the summer, and I do lavishly.
My husband tried to give me the stop-that-eye, but we have known each other for years,
And it has never worked on me.
Try it, he told our grandson.
He kept eating and we kept fixing.
First we microwaved it, then we let him watch it sizzle and fizzle in a pan.
He wanted to move in with us.
We let him eat two pounds of it.
Grandparents without limits.
We sent him home fifteen pounds heavier
With two new cuss words.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment