Faydean, first thing,
arranged flowers in Mother's vase,
placed them on Auntie's doily.
Draperies adjusted to keep the light from
Eggs boiling, low fat dressing, tuna fish chilled,
she rubs her face remembering the time she
failed to remove the crust.
Horace, never late for lunch, resembles his late portly
father. Everyone says so.
Three generations at the same bank, each with a portrait
any one could have sat for.
Crust trimmed perfectly.
Everything in place here where time stands still.