Milk, 1933

trumbull-ave.By Michael Lauchlan, printed in Trumbull Ave, WSU Press

When the gas man came for your meter,
your oldest let him in. You jumped
from your chair and handed him the baby—
“Take her, too! How will I feed her
if I can’t warm the milk?” After he fled,
you were ashamed. You were nursing,
of course, and had never lied to a soul.
Five decades later you could still see him,
nearly as hungry as you, his wrench
in one hand and, from the other,
your quiet Ellie gaping up.

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