a treat

once in a while
after dinner
my mother left
the oven on bake
and the door open
so we could stand
and warm our hands
and altho there was
no pie on the rack
our treat was a slice
of heat before we
heard the motor
and my father’s shadow
lumbered towards
the house and we ran
to our little chilly cells

Rob Plath, contrary to popular belief, is not yet under the jurisdiction of the worms. His latest book of poems Batter the Keyboard Like a Raptor Is Behind Yr Back is available from Laughing Ronin Press. See more of his work at: www.robplath.com. Read other articles by Rob.