​

Robert Hobkirk

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wishbone

 

Half eaten chicken

lying on white serving plate

quartered potatoes

chunks of carrots

celery too

we tell stories

            and laugh about the day

your little finger is locked around the wishbone

            so is mine

I pretend to make a wish

            close my eyes

                        mumbling my lips

that’s the way I faked out the nuns

            pretending to say the rosary

            so they would leave me alone

your face is so determined

            you win the wrestling match

            lifting your piece of chicken bone above your head in victory

I know better than to ask

            what did you wish for

secret desires of the heart are not to be shared

            or

                        they won’t come true

                                        everyone knows that

you clean the dishes

            I turn on the TV

                        lying on the couch

                        listening to you make music

                        with running water

 

                        and closing cupboard doors.