Daddy Do You Love Me?

–Early May 2001

One quarter pound
of top round
piled lovingly
upon a bed of
wheat and rye.
Mustard applied
from crust to
crunchy crust
–the spicy kind.
All goes unnoticed
until the first bite.
Daddy can
I have some.
Crestfallen I
take blade to
an edge knowing
full well that
the gesture will
be rebuffed.
Blood dried, bread
went stale.
One bite missing.
How I relished
each bite until
she plead.

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