Mom's Bridge Games

On Wednesday evenings, you'd host a card game or two

with those soft yellow, buttery mints

Waving your hands, you chased us out of the room

our bedroom prison, is where we were sent

For weeks you would clean and get everything ready

set up the card table and chairs needed to seat -em

A big crowd for us, around fifteen or twenty

you'd serve them our red hots, fresh cashews and peanuts

Dressed to the nines, always in your Sunday best

to play bridge with the neighborhood women

Sharp tones, slapping hands, "no, it's just for the guests"

sherbert ice cream in punch, with persimmons

*

Being a kid, it would never fail

with a mom who was pinching a buck

Forced to sit on the steps, faces pressed to the rail

raw moments like these, really sucked

But when everyone left, at the end of the night

and the TV and nightgown were put on

The call down the hall, was the official invite

to devour the leftovers, all gone

*

To this day I enjoy eating these snacks

if for only the memories they bring

Popping those goodies, and they come flooding back

I would change nothing, not one little thing