Member Poem

                        Oatmeal

You connect me to my ancestors
--those immigrants, farmers,
hard-working, sweat-poring off the brow
praying, cursing men (women too)
the scum off the ships (no Mayflower for them)
finding sustenance in that bowl of porridge
finding joy in the little clumps amid the milk
finding warmth in the food and the heat of the bowl.
Oatmeal is a color now in the ads
thou are't fine now, noble slop
that the pigs wouldn't shun
thou bringer of long-lasting calories,
thou food of the gods!
Thou microwave clumpy joy
that keeps the wheels of America turning. 

Kathleen Scholl