After Chicken and Dumplings
The firelog goes up like tinder.
I serve tea and homemade
peanut butter cookies.
We listen to the hammer dulcimer
on the stereo, my friend and I.
Atop the armoire, a balsa
mosquito stands poised
to bite a walnut Madonna.
Would you rather talk or write, I ask.
Write, says my friend.
Peruvian tapestries hang in
shadowboxes over the fireplace.
The fire snaps, crackles,Â pops,
loud as an above-ground swimming
pool of Rice Krispies.
She leans on my chest and writes.
I can see what youâ€™re writing, I tell her.
Thatâ€™s all right, she says.
An African mask my daughter
made in school watches over the
mahogany music rack
my father made in shop class.
I ask her if she will be my husband.
Before you give me your answer, I say,
let me go put the Dutch oven to soak.
I read to her from my parenting book.
â€œFor a snack, feed her four ounces
of milk and half a cup of cucumber spears.â€
We have a good laugh.
Soon I will ask my oldest if she will
babysit while I follow my friend
home and make love to her.
My daughter wants her to live with us, but my
bed is too small and how would you
fit a three-bedroom house into half a closet?
Â© 2012 Douglas J. Westberg. All Rights Reserved. Â Please share this on Gather.com, and elsewhere on the web by means of a link back to this page, but please do not copy. Â Doug’s latest book is The Depressed Guy’s Book of Wisdom from Chipmunka Publishing.
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