Working class cousin
of a crouton, I am crushing
you between my palms into a bowl
of Campbell’s Tomato Soup.
Sometimes I spread you with butter
or P & J, or make four tiny
sandwiches with a quartered slice
of American yellow cheese.
Cracker I once eschewed
for fancier crackers, I take you back.
You are trusty like old love,
the only cracker, when washed down
with Coke, able to soothe my queasy belly.
My grandpa broke a sleeve-full
into a bowl, topped the crumbles
with whole milk, sometimes
on summer nights, for supper.


From Gravity: New & Selected Poems (Tebot Bach, 2018).
Used here with permission.