A Dream of Dad’s

(by Pierre Bonnard)

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.