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Order this writing in the 2009 book Crawling Through the Dirt

Your Grandfather Tells Stories

Lauren Wescott Dobay

He liberated some eggs in World War 2,
Found them rolling beneath the broken leather

Seat of an old jeep, the men laughed; good
Eats tonight. Shared them in the shades of

Okinawa, scrambled, over easy; no ketchup,
Goes with beans, musty cornbread, no butter.

He missed the pickled pig’s feet Hazel from
Home would send, the macadamia cookies.

Fifty years later he says he remembers every meal,
Tells me he looks good in everything he eats,

Some sauerkraut left over on his turtleneck
Mustard on his khakis, steak sauce on his shoes.

His laughter booms; I lean in closer, seem to see,
The bewildered generals looking for their eggs.

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