Sarah Rosenblatt - Poems

    Packing Them In
    
     The lunches I pack each day
     start out fresh and wholesome
     and days later,
     stink.
      
     Summers become progressively warmer
     and the doormat picks up
     the bottoms of our feet
     the way autumn does
     ending the free-for-alls in the avenues.
      
     My son asks, “Does Santa bring the years?”
     I say, “I’m not sure what brings the years.”
     He says, “Maybe space.”