hungry and cold

it was a cheap steak
on your plate.
hardly able to cut it
you nibbled at
the edges.
this bone
this gristle,
this mess of meat
was nothing you should
be eating.
it smelled so good
wafting out
of the big window
restaurant on broadway,
and your son,
hardly ten,
said here, dad.
let's eat here. he
insisted as we shivered
on the sidewalk.
it was nineteen degrees
out and the wind
was white
off the Hudson.
you wanted to please him.
both of you learned
something different
at the same time.