Sustenance (World Poetry Day)

Mom's home-cooked noon dinner finished,
portable radio on the Formica table,
Dad reading The Des Moines Register,
bib overalls and plaid shirt,
leather lace-up shoes, Rockford socks.

Lee Kline on WHO Radio's noon farm show,
news and weather and the farm markets,
Mom's white Youngstown kitchen cupboards,
sights and sounds of my childhood,
my teenage years.

That radio, Dad's spot at the table,
where often he'd make his own 
childhood dessert, bread 
crumbled in a glass of milk, 
eaten with a spoon.

Then, folded arms on the table,
cradling his weary head, a power nap
before heading out for farmwork,
fortified by Mom's home cooking
and farm news from that portable radio.


    • Bless you, Elaine. That radio is what “got me.” Dad even hauled it around to listen to ballgames, even taking it to bed if he was too tired to sit up with it.

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