The Absence of Wavelength

Jonny

It wasn't just mom at the table,
It was five mothers who entreated a child
With baked goods and compliments,
While men, gruff, killed animals in their tales
By the glowing mantle of the living room.

It was cozy and bright at the round table.
Some knitted, wore shawls by the cold wall.
Something warm formed a smell enticing
From our nearby oven, coffee aroma tempted.
If you spoke, each scented lady responded.

The men never noticed, took time to feed
A curious child's ego should he near. But,
There was a knowing boy, much younger,
Sitting on our father's lap. Allowed to touch
The stock of a long-barreled gun. And,

When he hungered, the moms would come
Entreat with their adoring haloes, present gifts
Of fresh baked goods from our round table.
And when they exited the door, his cheeks
Pinched, protruding belly prodded, hair
Rubbed a mess, with a smile all too knowing,
As I stood empty, deflecting a lifetime.