DON'T LAUGH WITH YOUR MOUTH FULL by Judith Brenner

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Don’t Laugh with your Mouth Full

Life is hard to chew
after a breakup.
Yet my grown daughters keep it simple.
When we ladies dine together,
it’s naturally easy going times, even in a crisis.

Order anything, I say.
Messy ribs, chicken, barbecue? Bring it on!
Dressed up? No worries.
There are wet wipes for sticky fingers.
Fatty sirloin steak tastes better
on salad 
with blue cheese, please.

The tasty drinks and entrees arrive,
coaxing stories, none contrived.
Can you believe the neighbor with that hose?
She just kept spraying her car
soaking my left side while I paused to say hi.

How about the neighbor who dared
to pick our rhubarb 
just cause she saw us leave in an Uber? 
The nerve. Ring camera culprit. Absurd! 

The musical &Juliet will be on the agenda Sunday.
Shakespeare with a twist: Juliet says Romeo 
is a douche, a playboy, Hark, the lies!
Let’s give another guy a try. Put down the knife!

Hey, Chrissy’s dog, Betty, will ride in a stroller.
for the morning walk.
Can the gravel path handle that?
You betcha, but get a pic of that, while I golf, would ya?

Did you hear about the Wild? NHL team fail.
But now we have our Timberwolves.
They’ll prevail. We hope.

Ha! Look at sister’s nightclub makeup.
Her blush is now extra pink.
Wait, what? Yep! Your cheek! 
Saucy rib freckles. Dink!

A giggle and then a face check.
Did she get it off? No, Not yet. 
That won’t do. Can we look more silly? 
Hey, don’t laugh and chew! 

A bite-sized steak gets caught 
in Mom’s throat,
inhaled with a smile and then a gag.
Pound her back! Whack!

The RN daughter near her goes to work.
Coughs don’t help. Eyes fill with terror.
Pass the water please!
“She’s fine, she can talk.” Error!

That liquid won’t pass.  
Water spills on the plate. 
My airway is blocked. 
Hurry, before it’s too late!

Time for the Heimlich maneuver.
I slide out of the booth, choking.
We stand and lurch.
“Should I call 911?” asks daughter #2.
My feet are off the ground
while daughter tries another round.

On the third punch to the gut, 
a steak bite escapes. 
It lands on the table.
We pause. Are you ok? 
Yes! I can talk again. Raspy.

The waiter swoops up the piece of meat
in a napkin, 
as if it never happened.
We slide back in the booth
Breathing deep, no more panicking.

Recovered, 
we summon boxes for leftovers and a check.
A gray-haired man touches my daughter’s shoulder. 
“If you weren’t friends before
you sure are now!” 

And how! Two days later, I can’t sleep on my side.
A local nurse hotline suggests an X-ray, pronto.
Number nine rib is broke, a common casualty.
But I’m alive to share a story.

Ever grateful to my nurse in action. 
God, thank you for my guardian angels.
All of us have each other’s backs. 
I love my daughters dearly.
This episode won’t stop our laughing attacks.
I’ll skip ordering meat; opt for vegetarian, 
merely
try not to laugh 
with my mouth full.