Wednesday, April 8, 2015

April 8th Poem - The Breakfast Club


Like three lovely loons
my mother, my brother and I
hold hands, sing a song, and
dance around the breakfast table,
listening to a radio show called
Don McNeill’s Breakfast Club.
To make us laugh, our mother
makes funny faces, rubbery,
twisted, distorted faces.

Later, on a blue carpet,
we eat potato chips, read comics,
and listen to soaps – “Our Gal
Sunday” and “Helen Trent.”
A male voice inquires
“Can a woman over thirty
find true romance?”
The phone never rings
in my childhood house
but the radio is always on.

from Singing Magic by Barbara Alfaro
© Barbara Alfaro

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