October 25, 2011

my mother on a Monday night

This is the kind of moment I hope I remember
to remember: the two of us hunkered down over burgers
and beer, swapping stories while the man with the handlebar
mustache flits in and out with water refills and the ambient whirrs
of strangers’ conversations cushion our meal. I want to memorize
the chalkboard etched with the specials on tap, the laminated menu,
the parking lot free after 6, the slight buzz of a college town, the fries
dipped into a metal ramekin filled with ketchup, the red onion we both withdrew
from the bun. It is a small, simple scene, yet nuanced with largesse:
Two women bonding over dinner, adrift in their own happiness.