Poetry Thursday 5/17/07

We lived in England a little longer than a calendar year. My first son was only reception-school age then, and still an only child. We used to take the bus from our suburb into the city centre for adventures. We enjoyed the pedestrian mall in our otherwise wonderfully historic city. He still remembers a specific afternoon, and though he's a teen now, sometimes asks, "Mom, remember that sandwich?"

Baloney

In Bristol's City Centre,
we made the choice to enter
the Marks & Sparks to purchase prefab lunch.

We found a slatted park bench
beside a refuse bin's stench
and tucked into our soggy noontime munch.

My son sat weepy, moany
(he hates cheese and baloney!)
he raised the bread and earthward flopped the meat.

Before we knew what hit us,
with jerky, daft impetus
a greedy pigeon plucked it from the street.

He strutted, coldcut in beak--
(this feast could last a whole week!)
he gorged a bite, then flipped the ample snack.

He hadn't calculated,
(his hunger still unsated)
that what he'd tossed had landed on his back.

The stupid, flying rodent!
commotion most explodent
ensued among the others of his race;

They tackled mercilessly
they pecked their portions. Left he
confused, deprived, a meal-less disgrace.