Sitting with my brother on the green-painted logs
In the shade of the tin roof of the drive-in stall,
We waited for Lorraine to bring hamburgers,
Our grandfather inside running the business.
At the dinner table: mother, brother, me,
Stepfather who loved us best,
Except he loved our mother more –
And the cats who walked the kitchen tails up.
What I want to say is we know now
That, under toast, inside teapots,
In ice cream brought home once
During the war, love lay waiting,
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This is just a lovely poem! I love everything about it. I especially love 'Except he loved our mother more,' and 'under toast, inside teapots, in ice cream brought home once.' I wish I could do this.
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