Kitchen List

Pork chops cooked on an electric skillet by my mother, the
sizzling slabs of meat announcing Friday.

Spaghetti without sauce. My father’s way of eating the pasta
he cooked for us.

A hot slap of red chile enchiladas his other specialty. Served
with a fried-egg on top.

Top Ramen in the pantry like jumper cables in the truck.
The Boy Scout code: Be Prepared.

The taco sauce packet added to the saucepan, simmering
on the stove.

The kitchen where I stepped in front of my father’s raised fist
less like a wall and more like a window, where he could

see my spine is a step ladder, the heart wanting to climb
in to my head.

Lightning bolts and thunderclouds roil
as the two approach.