When Mom Makes Me a Salad

she fixes a salad like a kite

sailing across the table

on big lettuce wings

diving into green and black olives

with a twisting tail of croutons

scattered along the rim

of the bright sky blue bowl

no vinaigrette

she loves the taste of radishes

without sauce

and I, I take the old

restaurant treble silver serving dish

with its thousand island,

and French, and my favorite:

blue cheese, and smother

everything with all three

and throw in some Captain’s wafers,

 she doesn’t approve,

but says nothing,

glad I am eating salad.