Today Jordan at Verselove invited us to write food poems. As soon as I read that invitation my mind took a trip back in time to those occasional Sundays spent with my dad’s Uncle Bob (maybe my dad’s Great Uncle Bob) in his tiny trailer.

In his tiny trailer

Sunday mornings were for

bubbly ginger ale

biscuit making and

swearing lessons.

He’d mix the dough

roll it out

handing us each a drinking glass

the same glasses that would hold

sweet and bubbly ginger ale

doubled

as biscuit cutters.

We’d push down and twist

the pan filled with biscuits

perfectly sized

for girl-child bites.

While we waited

he’d egg us on

urging us to repeat

his favorite

(perhaps G-rated)

profanity.

Goddammit he’d announce

as older sister, I remained silent

little sister tested the swearing waters

our parents, an indulgent audience.

Our sweet reward:

flaky hot biscuits

slathered in butter and honey

with a side of ginger ale

and timeless Sunday memories

with Uncle Bob.

@kd0602