​It was easier to go to bed,
sometimes.
Supper was so long ago,
or maybe that was lunch.
I will dream of breakfast,
and never tell my sister
that I cry,
or tell my brother why.
He can have
my mayonnaise sandwich.
Maybe tomorrow
Dad will come.home,
and Mom won’t roam
and we’ll have real milk
to mix with the powdered,
before we have to
stand in line
for the government cheese.

M. Zane McClellan

Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved

An autobiographical response to Anita Lubesh’s poem Time to Act, found on the wonderful blog, As it Comes.

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