Roasted Pork Sandwich

She watches him; the hunger of life in every bite

While bread and pork and gulps of milk amuse his appetite

They feed the fire that feeds the dream that winks within his eye

Where time meanders like a stream, slow through middle July

She envies him a little for the gusto of a quest

He cannot fully name yet ever tugs within his breast

His vision still untarnished by a road of what-has-been

His feet point ever forward, eager to be seventeen

She smiles a little smile to see him gobble bread with ease

Unhindered by the brutish yoke of cost or calories

And he cannot yet fathom the intensity of this;

How tick and tock can gently lock away this youth of his

…and so she watches him and tries to sear upon her heart

The image of a mannish boy hunched over bread and pork

While planning plans, untethered by the sorrow of the clock

…for mother knows the highs and lows of little tick and tock

© Janet Martin

He came home last night ‘starving!’ he said, and wondered with an impish grin ‘would mother make a sandwich?’ and she did…