Days off
these days
are for
longing
skipping
long walk walking
poetry
bars for breakfast
potatoes and eggs for supper
remembering Grandma Faith
and how it was she who said ‘supper’
loving great-grandmother but hating the
word supper because of all the dirt, red air,
evil stares, soggy tomatoes, oily cups of coffee
and greasy pianos that were my childhood with her