by poet Christina Ward
You lift a greasy slice
with as much pepperoni
as an eight-year-old can handle,
raise it to your shiny lips.
I watch as your nose rises, nostrils flaring
with each wide-eyed bite.
You are careful with the cheese.
We eat in silence until
you ask me, mouth full,
“Mommy, am I a goober?”
I laugh and reply,
“No, of course not.”
“But you say that I am a goober.”
“I don’t mean it…” I say, concern
rising with my brow.
You pause,
“Ooooh, that must be sarcasm.”
I am still laughing, amused,
as your freckled nose rises
and you suck in another bite.
About the Poet
Christina Ward earned her B.S. and writing minor from Catawba College in North Carolina. Her writing, rich with imagery, nature themes, and raw analysis of human
Want more great poetry? Click the Vita Brevis Randomizer below