Saturday, March 8, 2014

Saturday in Maine

It’s Saturday morning, the dried beans slip through,
My fingers search for small stones,
We grew up on Saturday night beans
Swimming in a blend of molasses and spices,
Red hot dogs snapping with each bite.

On Saturday night
The double decker percolator bubbled
Plates filled with
Saturday night beans,
Lawrence Welk on a snowy screen
Waltzing with an old robust woman,
Her lipstick smiles back.

The house captures the smell,
And the tradition,
Our plates filled with
Saturday night beans,
Pandora rocks
As we dance in embrace
And both smile
As we remember both growing up
In Maine.

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