It was warm outside, in nineteen ninety five
As our family was ready for finger-lickin’.
You see on Monday night, Mama baked boiled & fried
A meal famous from Kelso to South Lincoln.
Fresh veggies of all flavors, and when cooked you would savor
The corn, tomatoes, onions and greens.
But in the center of the table, was our family’s meal staple,
A big bowl of pinto beans.
Not just any bowl could serve, but one proven it’s worth,
And this one fit the bill just right.
The brand, not sure I can tell; but I think it was Corelle,
Burnt orange with an inside of white.
Filled to the top, I had to make myself stop
From grabbing a fork and starting to eat.
But watched in delight, for Mama to place it just right
Before beginning our Monday night feast.
Then the world stopped, though the bowl she didn’t drop,
Yet it cracked like leaves in the fall.
And when it shattered, bean juice spilled & splattered,
All to the Last Supper picture on the wall.
Mama’s tear began flowing, there was no consoling
This loss so very dear to her soul.
Our cleaning we began, on the bean juice as it ran
From everywhere, even St. Peter’s toe.
Although our meal did remain, it just wasn’t the same
Without our pinto beans garnished with relish.
Others wanted to know, how the bean bowl had broke
But the story we wouldn’t embellish.
Many trips have been made, round the sun since that day,
The earth shook and that is no joke.
Occasionally we will talk, about the day the world stopped,
The day Mama’s bean bowl broke.