Was it the sweet or mashed potatoes
or football game or pie
that made the day so exquisite?
Was it the way everyone chipped in
to cook and clean and reminisce
about the mud bowl at the lot in 1976?
Perhaps it was the familiar scent
of sage and cinnamon drowned out
by children's squeals and chatter,
or maybe, just maybe, it was
the same old conversation about tires,
or how much people disliked Howard Cosell
even though there hasn't been a game
called with as much vigor or vibrato
since John Lennon passed on a Monday night.
No, it must have been the thought
that even the old beagle Bosco
knew that we were thankful
for him and his sister, and the two
dreadful cats, the bills, the drought,
the high price of peanut butter.
Knowing how good we have it
amid all that is bad made me
grateful for dandelions, too.
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