Standing In Line For Army Surplus Food

I was 5, or maybe 6 years old

Peering out from behind Mommy’s skirt,

I, in my “brand new” flour-sack dress,

Big brother in his prized cowboy shirt.

With so many children in line, we

Shyly peeked-and-booed with each other

While we slowly moved a space or two

Holding tight to siblings and mothers.

You would think I was too young to know,

Yet it was clear we were pitiful;

A heap of society’s wretches,

In line for military vittles.

I was afraid to look at the clerk,

When we reached that queen in her tower,

Fearing her angry look of disdain,

So I studied my frock’s cute flowers.

She gave a sigh as she handed us

Powdered eggs, milk, and Processed cheese.

Food for three filled a grocery bag,

And a child’s head with harsh memories.

Naida Lavon

Jan. 2021

Judi’s Leff’s Memoir Class (San Mateo CC)

Prompt: Write about standing in line