Old Poem

Here's some old poetry I found in my files


Childhood Breakfast

Childhood breakfast was a spread
on the kitchen table rescued
from the doctor's lounge
by my mother the day before.
Apple danish, cheese danish, raisin bagel
sealed in plastic with microwave
instructions printed at the bottom.
To the side, a note from my mother
scrawled on one of her prescription pads
said, "Don't miss the bus.  Love, Mom."

Self packed lunches consisted
of peanut butter sandwiches,
Oreo cookies, crushed chips
and a warm can of soda
packed in a too big grocery bag.
No note from Mom,
no special surprises included.

Dinner was never at six or seven,
My mother called at eight to say
she would be home in half an hour.
Nine o'clock she tumbled
in the front door, white lab coat
still on, pager in pocket beeping,
glasses halfway down her shiny nose.
One hand dropping patients' files,
the other clutching a bag
of fast food, trying not to drop it.
A rush to the kitchen,
bag tossed on the table,
my mother grabbing
the phone off the wall.
Ravenous, I open the bag
dumping half wrapped burger,
large fries mixed with ketchup packets.
Picking through the pile,
I felt the rubber coldness
of the hamburger bun.
I searched the crinkled paper
for microwave directions
that weren't there.



It's interesting that my dad is void in this picture.  It's as if my mom were a single parent and I were an only child.  While my dad worked in the office with my mom every day, my mom also spent lots of time going to the hospital and nursing homes to "make her rounds".  I don't doubt my mom's dedication to her job - helping people was natural to her.  I do believe that getting away from my dad and getting to chat with patients who appreciated my mom dearly must have been a respite.

As far as the time that I was "the only child" in the house goes, I spent a lot of time alone.  My dad spent a lot of time after hours at the office.  I'm sure he was doing work that could have been done faster by an employee, or on a computer, or if he weren't so OCD with paperwork, going over the details over and over.  Sure, when it comes to business being correct and in order is important, but then there's overkill.  I didn't complain about my dad not being around.  Often, when he would come home early, without my mom, I wonder if my disappointment showed.