Sunday Seasoning

A day meant for repose and renewal? And planning ahead for the week to come He sat with a barrel under his knees Calm in demeanor with eyes at ease He peeled potatoes in quantities of many His hands must of felt crude and stingy From the iodine reaching his cut callous hands The aroma of sauteing onions rising in the kitchen It was a chilly snowy day with the warmth of cooking in the air Potatoes lined the cutting board The racket of the large cutting knife was all I heard So many shapes of difference Some potatoes with eyes and knots Some had none My heart lumped with sheer anticipation For all his work on the potatoes soup and it’s preparation Oh, all the hours of my sensors in endless ample delight As my tongue waited patiently for the night Thank God for Sundays and a day of rest But at least for me Until his is done and then I’ll have to clean up the mess