my sister and i sat on the kitchen floor,
a stack of sleeveless 45s between us.

i placed the adapter on the turntable, 
put a record on, set the needle down.

we sang along to the story
of a pony named Wildfire,
danced to a ditty about a 
brand new roller skate key,
laughed through a song about Galileo,
sung by a guy named Freddie.

a box of cereal
on the floor–
milk, spoons,
two big bowls.

she liked it crunchy;
me, soggy.

mom, smoking cigarettes,
hovering over the stove– 
pork chops, fried potatoes,
green beans cooked with bacon grease.

dad and our brothers,
off to see some space movie.

on the window sill,
a sparrow bounced,
sang a song of his
own.