Food by Heather Moulson
Online - 17 July 2020
Dinnertime was rabbit stew – tiny bones
sticking out the greasy stock
and thickness of gravy, covering
Lamb hearts still beating, next to
Chops and chips were a treat,
rare as blancmange, or a
bottle of R Whites.
Or chips from the brand spanking new
Chinese Takeaway – counteracting
the basic mistrust of sweet and sour.
Then no more proper dinners at 12 o’clock,
lunch became a tin of Happy Shopper soup
while tea diminished to Earl Grey and bore?
Currant bread, dinner became supper.
Mince cooked after work, in a pan owned
by a vegetarian
Or a slab of gammon steak next to a bunch
Never had ‘afters’ anymore – no rice pudding
out of the oven, nor tinned peaches and
A can of Pils lager and ten fags were the sweetest
The first meal on wedding present plates,
was curry from Bejams.
My kid’s post school meals were sausages and
Hand made ginnochi a dismal failure.
Adult time meant traipsing along supermarket
aisles, looking for rice wine or cider,
for the most life-changing recipes.
Only to be ditched for Birds Eye and chips.
No more standing over hot fat, or multiple
Nor the daily visit to the butchers, where
rabbits hung upside down.
I tell the children about Gran’ meals –
that that was how she held the family
They look at me and laugh.
by Heather Moulson
More about Heather at https://heathermoulsonpoet.com/
Poem for the day Food