Boiled Cabbage

A Poem by R. Gerry Fabian

I ask her if she would like a tuna sandwich?
“Lord in heaven, no!”
Her inflection and phraseology are a spot on
duplication of her mother.
“When we were poor, we ate tuna fish and
those Chinese noodles with the repugnant
flavor packets twice a week.
I’ll never eat another bite of tuna as
long as I breathe.”
She says it with the venom of
a rattlesnake bite.

She was never poor.

In my family, it was liver.
My mother’s second cousin was a butcher.
We ate liver, at least, once a week.
Contrary to “Miss Tuna Fish”,
I love liver.
Fry up some beef liver with onions
and that brown gravy and I’m in heaven.
Today,
try and find liver in your grocery store.
I “double dog dare you.”

And of course, there is always
boiled cabbage.

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