You say you’re not hungry,
but she cooks fish sticks anyway,
because fish sticks are an act of love
(Whatever the hell that means).
She calls you inside.
You put four on a paper plate,
add horse radish sauce for dipping
and go back outside to eat.
Confident no self-respecting Southern bug
will attempt to eat anything covered in dipping sauce
that’s not Duke’s Mayonnaise or ketchup,
you set the plate down next to your chair
and dine in the fading light.
4-29-24
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