Every time

my brother


returned from University,

back in the 70’s,

My mum would make him an apple pie.


She had a special tray that had wavy walls and

a base

that could lift-out.


It’s Lloyd’s favourite

was the excuse –


I can’t remember me or any of my other siblings having a signature dish.


How I wish, I wish, I could

have a bite,


sitting next to my papa

In the kitchen,

back-door steamed-up with condensation,

net curtains,

reticulate on my tongue.

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