Breakfast With Pop

Not your everyday ordinary grandfather,
Pop was my buddy. He and Mom, too young
to be called Grandma and Grandpa though
I tried once with Mom and was given a knuckle
to my forearm that left a bruise, they’d dance
arm in arm from the living room to the kitchen
as they’d busy themselves fixing breakfast
for my brother, Mikey, and me; we were
frequent weekend guests as kids.

Eggs sunnyside up, with grated potatoes,
diced onions, thin slices of meatballs Aunt Mary
sent over every night from across the street, and
she made the best meatballs I’ve ever had. Pop
would add three shakes of tabasco to the pan
and it sizzled. Mom readied our rolls with
margarine on one side and ketchup on the other.
Pop would put ‘boravought’ on his but not ours
or Mom’s, too hot he’d say.

Egg sandwiches remind me of Pop and Mom
and the ballroom dances that forever waltzed on
in their Richmond Hill house, and to this day,
I’ve never called hot pepper flakes anything but
‘boravought.’

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 15