in her camouflage apron

my mother

would have made a fine

army cook

after dealing with her

seven children

and wayward husbands.

i can see her standing

behind the battlefield

in her camouflage apron

cracking eggs.

throwing strips of

bacon onto a pan, with

a griddle of hash browns 

and a plate of toast

on the gurney.

yelling at the soldiers

to slow down,

don't talk with your

mouth full,

and use a napkin,

for Pete's sake,

wipe your chin,

right there, right there.

you've got some

blueberry jam.