Mom was cooking at four on the dot
using her white aluminum pot
Dinner was ready at four forty five
That’s when dad came up the drive
Monday through Friday this did take place
No matter the season, no matter the case
I think this messed up my thinking somehow
Trying to change this was a big disallow
Even now from
time to time,
I feel the guilt
For not cooking, 
my mind
goes on tilt
I try to remember this was from days gone by
Seems those early traditions are hard to untie
So once in a while you will find me
With a white pot on a cooking spree
When I think of the set up
that my parents had
I don’t really believe
the thinking was
half bad

About kwicksand

Sinking in the quicksand of my thoughts. ~David Bowie
This entry was posted in Poems, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Talk to me

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s