(from the NaPoWriMo prompt: write a poem about a specific place.) <Perhaps dinner is not a place to most, but when you don't really grow up with one brick-and-mortar home, dinner works most days.>
I made dinner tonight
that had fresh lettuces and red peppers
and cucumbers
with a steak
that had not been frozen
and did not require a sauce
and my former student was giving
a concert online to benefit
so many somewhere else
and I made a martini with vermouth
because that is the way
it is supposed to be
and the steak came out right
and the lettuce wasn’t wilted
and the potatoes were creamy
and the kitchen was cleaned
as I went
and all around the house, spring migrating birds
swung in and out of the feeders
and deer walked through the yard
where a couple of turkeys had just pondered
spring grass.
Dinner time during the End of Days can be
beautiful
when it is all working.