The Remark at Dinner

When you said,

"I wonder what the poor people are eating,"

I smirked.

When I looked

at the bland mashed potatoes and meatloaf,

I wondered:

Were Dad's words

deluded, a lie, or kudos to the chef, Mom?

When I grew up,

I saw Dad's words for what they were:

A declaration that perhaps

he has climbed into the middle class

through sweat and love

for his wife, his family, and grocery bargains

like meatloaf and spuds.

When you said

those words, I didn't realize we were barely scraping by.

I didn't know

that your hard work would end your life

at sixty-five.

I wish I could again hear you say,

"I wonder what the poor people are eating."