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  • Writer's pictureLeann Shamash


A Poem For Lunch


A sorry salad and humus

accompany me to lunch.

Thanks for the invitation.

My only company

A fly on the hunt for better snacks,

for there are always better snacks

The kitchen table is a launchpad

a map of springtime

plans and green plants

come rain or shine

Seed packages cascade

Over a bridge of books.

Titles wait patiently

Day after day their eyeless covers implore,

"Maybe today?"

I reply with a sniff,

"Maybe tomorrow?"

Words of wisdom scattered

Like salt over the table.

The salad dressing converses with the seltzer bottle,

as the salt shaker looks on with envy

wishing he was included

in the daily gossip.

The weekly newspaper

lies crumpled with disappointment

that my eyes are elsewhere

And not on all the news fit to print.

The napkins nap, all curled up in repose

Their snores dulled by the breeze,

blown in through the open door.

A lone jar of eggplant salad

stands tall as a lighthouse in a sea of seeds.

It is having a secret conversation with the mayor of Newton

I wish I was privy to their words...

I lean down a little closer

but my hair dips into my humus

I'm up in a flash.

So much to do between bites

Fingers to lick,

Gardens to plan,

Puzzles to solve,

Dreams to dream.

Tables to clean

someday soon.

Dishes not to do.

Maybe later.

I have a poem to write.

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