Palavras lidas #451

It’s the Fifties
by Anita Pulier

At about six pm my father
exits the F train,
walks four long blocks home.

Arrives smiling, weary.
Removes his rumpled suit,
crooked tie.

Mom in an apron,
gently shoos us away,
while two martinis on a tray
slosh from kitchen to porch.

Before dinner,
before questions
about homework and tests,

two martinis (each with an olive)
create a filigreed space
on a louvered porch in Queens
defining so much more than evening.