My Grandma

My grandma,
My grandma Fowler,
That’s her name,
But I don’t call her that,
She makes the best food.
At least the best summer food.
Her potato salad is perfect!
Just the right color,
Just the right taste,
And she had chips,
Mom never bought chips,
But grandma had at least two kinds.
I think of her whenever I eat yellow chips.
Like Lays,
Or Fritos.
And we always carried the food out on TV trays to the porch.
She had to unlock the French doors.
And the plastic-like tablecloths that grandmas put on tables.
With the Seventies yellow-orange-brown designs.
And she showed us the Pop-Pop roses and the humming birds.
She made dolls for me and they were up in the bedroom across from Charlie’s.
I love you, Grandma!

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