no requests taken

was my mother a good cook?

who knows.

but we ate everything she put on 

our plates.

from pork chops,

to spaghetti,

to scrambled eggs.

she was more of an army cook

in the middle of a war,

a raging battle

with troops to feed,

making due

with whatever she could find.

salt and pepper,

butter and oils.

a small tower of wonder

bread centered.

before shopping,

she was

always at the table with a pair

of sewing shears

cutting coupons

from the newspaper.

searching for

whatever meat was on sale,

apples and bananas,

spam,

there were no requests taken.