The Last Supper

I wonder what it'll taste like,

The last school lunch you'll make for me.

Will the juice be as sour as some of our disagreements?

Or will it be as sweet as the first hug after summer camp?

Will the potato chips be as salty like the tears you cried

On my first day of school, my first graduation, the graduation to come?

Will the fruit have the fiber you've backed me up with since I wrote

My first story,

My first poem,

My first song?

Will the sandwich have the meat of our

Dinner conversations,

Our television commentary?

Will the paper towel be as clean as the

Clothes you washed for me?

Will the lunch box look put together

In spite of a long night, a short sleep,

And an early morning?

Will it feel cold like your hands

Out of poor circulation?

Or will it feel warm, because it close,

Like you've held me, and will hold me

That morning?