My Lunch

Lettuce,  
because one child wished  
for one leaf one day,  
a whole head now depends on me,

half a hard boiled egg found  
untouched on a breakfast plate,

two slices of lonely salami  
too sad to save for one more meal,

mandarin orange I pilfered before  
dishing up the rest to them,

my fancy vinegar and oil  
transforms it to  
salad gourmet.

I sit down only when  
they're all tucked in for nap,  
wet laundry's moved to dryer,  
ice on the front walk  
chopped with a spud and shoveled off  
so no one slips at pick up time.

Now  
quiet  
but for my slow crunch, 
the whisper of my pencil  
filling ledgers, logs and forms, 
a mantle clock that ticks and gongs 
marks minutes, too few left.

                                                                                          Chris Bazzett