From the top of the mountain
Seven states could be seen
We could see them all except
The state daddy was in
Vacations being a lot like
Table dinners, something
We could never have together
Without an argument ensuing
Daddy, in a fit of rage,
Kicked my mother’s foot
As we sat down to dinner
One night… liver and onions
Cooked in brown gravy
To a boy looks edible
But the taste sure differs
From that of beef steak
Prepared in the same way…
Mama’s eyes welled
With tears and her face
Flushed red as the pain
From a broken big toe
Crawled its way up her leg
To mix with the deception,
Lies, and broken promises
Swimming in her brain.
Lies smoothly spoken
To her by a man having
Become so brutal
And so filled with anger
He was barely recognizable
As the man she married
She was not allowed
To get up from her chair
At the dining table that night
So we stared at liver and onions
And watched as big tears
Rolled down from mama’s
Lovely blue eyes
Spilling into her plate
Like runoff from a storm sewer
To pool silently in the cold
Brownness of gravy
I still detest the taste of liver
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