Dinner
       

I befriend my mother,
sympathize with her burdens,
but desire my father's power.

I want to have the same power
to dominate the table, dictate the order
of the day, rule by glares and glances.

Mom sprinkles too much pepper
on her food and enjoys
a purgative fit of sneezing.

Dad continues hoovering his meal,
apparently inured to this wild ritual.
Grandfather clock ticks in the corner.

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Copyright © 2021 Linda Haviland Conte All rights reserved
from Seldom Purely
Ibbetson Street Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission