Lamb by Lori Jean #poem #saddinner

By Lori Jean Finnila

My dad’s look was stern,
It was lamb at the dinner table again.

Mom would be sweet,
I’d lick the plate,
And even have my sister
And brother’s on there way to me.

The softness of the pink flesh,
The broiled skin in eloquence
Touched my lips once again.

But brashly put,
That wouldn’t stop the experience
Of lamb in our house.

For my brother would puke,
Sister would cry,
Mother would flush…

And then back to dad’s stern look.

Was it the poor sad sheep we feared for,
Or perhaps because it was on our baby crib
At one time.

Was it the coloring books
Or reading books,
Or perhaps grandma’s hooks
Filled so with it as she knits.

Was it, the scratch of wool
That it reminded of,
That made us itch
Up on our skin so bad.

Perhaps the night time tale
That was supposed to bring us so much comfort
Would never come again.

Alas, poor lamb.
Count 1,
And three.
You will always be rest assured
Of your intent
Of whatever it may be,
In you and me.

Photo courtesy Adrian Gonzales from


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