My father never cooked more than cheese toast
except the occasional steam-cooked greans
He'd call us in- to the hectic kitchen,
requiring help in making the same meal
"Taters" wildly sliced and thrown
into a frying pan by my big sister
frozen hot dog buns- slightly thawed
buttered enthusiastically by my big,
happy brother
screams from my own- crooked toothed
smile- as I struggled to pop each
ice cube from the box- into our colored cups.
Dinner would be small-
just enough for the four of us...
or maybe some leftovers for my Mom
who was gone
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