Grandma Helen At IHOP

After backwards crossovers

and terrifying toe jumps

with a whole lot of fish-flopping

onto well-worn ice,

there was always IHOP

every Saturday at 1.

Mommy and Grandma Helen and I

would squeeze into that just-too-narrow booth

with the broken springs

and shredded faux-leather-not-really-pretending-to-be-leather cushions

farthest away from the smoking section

(Mommy insisted)

and I would ask for a Rooty Jr. with strawberries and lots of whipped cream,

and Mommy would get a Belgian waffle,

and Grandma Helen,

whose very favorite restaurant was IHOP,

the International House of Pancakes,

would proudly order

liver and onions.