My boys are getting older.
I served a salad with chicken for dinner.
The three older took it without a fuss.
I glanced up at one point to see Abraham,
With a bit of a distressed and guilty expression,
Moving an orange bell pepper to the side of his plate.
I’m not sure what he was planning to do with it.
We have no dog under the table, waiting for scraps.
No matter.
I reassured him that he didn’t need to eat it.
He looked relieved and said, “I don’t much like peppers,
Except for pepperoni.”
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