Short Tablemates Poems

Grandma Francie had been a preschool teacher too long
She packed me a lunch one time when I was in sixth grade.
What are those? My tablemates asked as I rolled them out.
They were tiny bugs made out of apples, celery, dates and raisins.
I was humiliated and horrified. It was a lunch a three-year-old would love.
“Can I have one?”
I ended up giving them all away.
They wanted to know if grandma would sell them some.
Catastrophe avoided....

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