the kitchen window

i was standing at the kitchen

window

the other day,

eating, and thinking,

not unlike how my mother used

to do when

she was waiting

for my father to come home

after being

out drinking and gallivanting

with his buddies

and some

bar floosie.

pulling up in his turquoise

chevrolet with another dent

in the side.

but i was standing there eating

a tuna sandwich

when it occurred to me

that i actually have a dining

room table,

with dishes and plates.

silverware. etc.

and could i sit down and eat

any time i wanted.

my mother could too. but

this was her favorite place to

worry, as it has become mine.