Father dabbed his mouth,
Declared contentment with his meal
Mother had made, after a day
At work, assembled to “Blue Hills”;
And in expansive mood,
Reflected that they might do well
To open a café, right on this spot,
To pay some bills.
This very clever man
Somehow forgot to wonder why
Places of hospitality
Open and close;
But thought that patrons would arrive
And seat themselves upon our couch,
Cars in our crowded drive and on
The table, elbows.
Mum would serve and make the food
And Dad would schmooze;
From a domestic kitchen
This would pass,
And as the guests departed
And the coin was gathered-up,
She’d collapse and he’d raise
His contented glass.