When Daddy Did the Cooking
My brother was first at the table
to pile six pancakes on his plate.
I don’t know how he stayed so skinny
given the enormous amount that he ate.
My daddy had made the hot syrup
from white sugar or so he had thought.
After one bite my brother was choking,
hair rising as though he’s besot.
Then Dad yelled ,”Don’t pour the syrup.
Instead of sugar, I grabbed Epsom Salt. "
Won No. 5
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment