Greasy chicken fingers
Just out of the oven.
Poised before your mouth.
The apartment in its
comfortable disarray.
The beautiful little boy
wedged between us,
rubbing his food
all over his face.
Salivating,
and sputtering.
At this small metal table,
it all comes rushing back.
I did not understand,
when I dreamt it all
years ago.
A child unborn.
A person unknown.
Caught in a strange
flashing moment.
At the time,
I was confused.
I woke up wondering
about having
A meaningless dream.
Then it faded,
until this moment.
Everything as predicted.
From the dead bugs
in the light fixtures
to each and every crumb
on the table.
The cigarette burns
in the carpet
to the questioning
glint in your eyes.
I wonder if in my dream.
You asked about my dream
Like you did just now,
or if it stopped there,
a split second before.
Buried in my mind.
Waiting for this moment
to come back alive.