Sunday Morning breakfast
in the suburban, backseat
Izzy throwing biscuits
down beneath my feet
Six Red Flags appearing in the distance
above the trees, so tall
Dad always sees them first,
but Em made the call
unload the kiddos and watch them run
tripping, skipping to the entrance
weekend Listerine breath
awoke me with remembrance
scrambled up,
shoulder to shoulder
or singing buzzing lights
for the fluffy prize beholder
Hot concrete,
tired little feet
turkey legs and funnel cakes for the road
all packed up again and headed Home
