Family Circle

At a round rest stop table

The usual can of pork

And beans, plain, nothing added

To make them seem more

Than they were, was the only side.

The mother prepared simple

Bologna sandwiches, neat,

With no mayo or lettuce,

And the ordinary meal

Became a summer picnic:

It was an unbroken circle,

Singing songs of childhood.

They were like westward

Pioneers who stopped

Someplace near here decades sooner

To locate themselves

In a family way.