Sweet Tea

She never gave up that recipe, the
boys' favorite iced tea, made
smooth and sweet.  Women 
sit in the kitchen going over
coupons and recipes, regurgitating
the latest gossip heard in the
pew behind at this morning's
service.  men sit on the porch
tucking chaw in their
lip pocket, spitting in a bucket
on the railing.  Waiting for the 
race to start, supper to be
served, the clouds to pass so
lawn can be mowed.  Another
Sunday without Mama.  The
iced tea is off, just enough
for the boys to notice, the
women to know they missed
again.  If only she'd learned
to write, we'd have the recipe.

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