WHEN THE MINISTER CAME TO DINNER

 

I recall that my grandma

At least once a year

Would ask the minister’s family

To come for Sunday dinner.

It wasn’t just the minister

And his family who ate

But grandma’s children and grandchildren

Who numbered twenty-eight!

Since her driveway was quite long

We children would all wait

And watch from the three season porch

Hoping dinner wouldn’t be late.

As soon as we would spot his car

The word went through the air

All the aunts would tell their mates

“The minister’s here—don’t swear!”

Grandma’s table was quite long

But we were not all able

To join the minister’s family

As they sat at the table.

Once her honored guests were fed

Used plates and silverware

Were carried to the kitchen

And the table reset with care.

Grandma often served chicken

You see, she raised her own

When the dinner was over

All that was left was bone.

As I recall those good times

It seems it was just yesterday

That the minister and his family

Came for dinner on Sunday.

    

Jan Lutz   copyright 2007  used by permission of author