This might be a revolting idea a slow-thinking tablemate said.
I rolled my eyes at my cousin Rhea and ate some sour dough bread.
There has never been an original idea in her fluff-frilly head.
Rolling his eyes across the table was her daddy, my Uncle Ed
Categories:
tablemate, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Monorhyme
She chose wedding colors I was not fond of.
They seemed blah to me – tan, black and gray.
Ugh!
How pretty could the decorations be?
Not very.
What about the foods? I asked hopefully.
What will you serve?
Every table will have a fruit board.
What is that?
Fruit splayed out on a long board in the middle.
No cake?
I was horrified.
No.
What about drinks?
Purified water, she told me, fresh from a spring.
I was speechless.
Did not want to attend.
But she was my sister.
Believe it or not the fruit board was a hit.
We all went back to it over and over.
Eating our fill of raspberries, bananas and strawberries.
I just found an apricot! A tablemate said.
I discovered a pineapple.
It was better than cake.
I think everyone at the table enjoyed it.
And the wedding was pretty too.
In spite of the blah colors.
Categories:
tablemate, food,
Form: Free verse
"Would you like barbeque chicken,
or country steak with gravy?"
"Uh, huh."
"You want both?"
"Uh huh."
Her tablemate drools, bottom lip
hanging. He stares at his menu,
waiting for someone to take his order.
An aide rolls a wheel chair to the table
for four. "Stay there!"
Her harsh tone seems inappropriate
for the tiny lady with frizzy curls.
"Mom, what would you like for dessert,
butterscotch pudding or chocolate cake?"
"Uh huh."
"You want both?"
"Uh huh."
Leftward movement draws my eye.
Frizzy curls is on the move.
She's booking out of the dining hall,
fast as her feet can peddle.
The trays arrive. I unwrap cutlery,
pour milk, place Mom's bib around her neck.
Her table-mate digs in, unassisted.
Mother stares at her plate, picks up
her fork, pokes at her food.
The fourth place at the table
remains empty.
Categories:
tablemate, age, food, life, mother
Form: Free verse
Black markings shade the space beneath green eyes,
for Friday night means football in these parts.
The name is Simon, snooping is my art,
my reg'lar seat's beneath two hefty guys.
There's plenty popcorn almost ev'ry time -
bits of sandwiches, chips and pizza parts.
When our team's doing good and scoring yards,
dessert is ice cream -makes my purr-er chime.
I share with Sugar, tablemate tonight.
Before the crowd leaves, we will scamper off.
Mix cats with water; there'll be a riot.
On Friday night, good food is my delight
but we get out before they hose the trough.
Game called for rain? means we're on a diet!
Categories:
tablemate, pets, sports,
Form: Italian Sonnet