Resolution

I must not try to read.
I must not try to read and eat.
I must not try to read and eat at the same time.
I must not try to read and eat at the same time in bed.
I must not try to read and eat at the same time in bed when it means holding the food with just one hand.
That probably goes double if the food is messy and has bits like mushrooms that may fall off on the sheets.
Although the falling bits do leave an aromatic mushroomy cheesy yumminess behind on the sheets.
But their- however temporary- presence means the sheets need to be washed.
And that frees up more time for reading.
I must do the laundry.

Cantankerous

The time for breakfast came and went-
You were still in bed-
So sweep all thoughts of bacon and
Waffles from your head.
Would you like a bologna sandwich?
Damn! I can’t find a clean knife.
There’s chili but Mom said
No beans for you so no way. Not on your life.
Cheesy broccoli soup which you hated.
I give up! I throw up my hands.
You wanted it, here’s a fork you can have it-
Cold spaghetti right from the can.

Aftertaste

Grandma made it like
this; Macaroni bathed in
cheese sauce and memory.

Flour Sacked

I had an identity crisis in
The baking supply aisle of our Safeway.
I picked up a five pound bag of flour
And visions of possible futures passed
Before my eyes. All I wanted to do
Was make a little white sauce to mix with
Some cheese when I made mac and cheese from scratch.
But now that I stood here holding the bag
It seemed a waste to buy it just for sauce.
I should be baking cookies or even
Make some bread by hand and fill the house with
Warmth and the homey aroma and yet
It’s been at least a generation since
Anyone in my family made bread
Without a machine and although I tried
Years ago I never quite got the knack
And chances were slim I’d be overcome
With the urge to become so domestic
Again. But if I’m unemployed and broke
Shouldn’t I play Martha Stewart to save
Some cash? Sighing I put the bag into
The shopping cart and gave it a good push,
Squared my shoulders determined to move on.

Columbo

I don’t even know your first name
And I’m in love with you.
You’ve such a sense of childlike
Wonder and elan as you
Ask your questions.
You’re not always truthful but
When your eyes sparkle, the hair
Falls boyishly across your forehead,
All is forgiven.
I know there will be cigar ash on the carpet.
I know my poetry book will be coffee stained.
I know I’ll be cleaning chili off your trenchcoat.
But if you bring the cheese and onions,
I’ll bring the saltine crackers and
I won’t kick you out of bed
For getting crumbs
All over the sheets.