evenin’ dinner…

I’d watch her in the kitchen…dancin’ round to some old song sung by Chet Baker…she’d sing along too…while meatloaf was put in the oven…potatoes boiling on top of the stove…bread sliced…

and momma would set the table…forks to the left and knives to the right of plates with pictures on ’em…sketches of green pastures with red barns off in the background…a napkin lay atop in a tent like shape…

glasses were placed on the right side too…except pa’s…he was a lefty…she was always accommodating…filled with iced tea and lemon…a sugar bowl down by daddy…he liked his sweet…

the potatoes were drained in the sink and she’d call me in to mash ’em up real good with an old ricer…making a concoction of potatoes…sour cream…salt and pepper…and garlic…with mom’s final touch of dill weed…

it was evenin’ dinner…prayers were offered up…Chet was turned off…and silence prevailed with the ever so often requests of pass this…pass that…please and thank you was always said…always said…

the kids cleaned off the table and washed dishes as mom and dad watched the nightly news with John Chancellor and David Brinkley…stories ’bout wars in foriegn lands and hunger in Africa…some dictator was toppled…

the old man ate his ice cream with Pepsi poured all over it…and mom sat on the couch foldin’ clothes…she was always foldin’ clothes…while kids played outside ’til streetlights came on in a blue hue…daddy didn’t have to call…we knew the rules…

then one day it was over…no more dinners…no more playin’ in the streets…things came to a halt…highways became my home…the constant leavin’ from one town to another…with collect calls made to a home back in the Midwest where evenin’ dinner was bein’ made…choices we make…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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