A Good Day

     
It’s always a good day when the toilet works,

homework is finished, mom’s made two
blueberry pies for Sunday dinner

And your father isn’t yelling “you ungrateful 
bastard! I regret the day you were born!”

after you brought him his slippers 
from upstairs 

too slowly for his liking.  

Later my brother and I, in monk~like silence, heads bowed toward purplish plates, 

finished off most of one berry pie 
slathered with ice cream doing our best 
to keep dad calm,

ourselves well~nourished and safe, 

to hold on to the good day
for as long as we could.