have nothing to do with Don Quixote,
and everything to do with my grandma;
her favorite cookie, full of spice and almonds.
Their aroma saturates her pantry, with notes
of ripe pie apples joining the chorus.
I munch hot dogs slathered with spicy mustard.
My mom, grandma and I cluster
around grandma’s chrome and formica
dinette set. Gossip and laughter arc
between them. I just chew and listen, because
grandma’s hot dogs taste the best. They save
their appetites for the cookies. I would
prefer chocolate chip, but I eat a few
Windmills, anyway, as a show of solidarity.
Of course, now, it would just be me, sitting
around that table. And I would be worrying
about the nitrites and MSG additives
in the hot dogs, and too many carbs in the bun.
And, it’s hard to find the Windmill cookies
these days, just like it’s hard to recreate
a moment in time.