Two pigeons outside my flat
nibble a kerb like a couple of old
widowers struggling to feed themselves.
I remember Grandpi’s first roast dinner
and how he only called my mum once
just to double check how to peel the spuds
and boil the spuds and how much oil
to preheat in a pan to roast the spuds
and if you peel carrots and if stuffing gets stuffed
inside the chicken and how much milk is mixed
in the Yorkshire pudding batter and
at what stage you add water to the gravy.
It tasted just like Grandma’s,
he said the next day. I was very proud.

© Carl Burkitt 2020