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Artichokes

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I keep wanting
Dad to buy artichokes
For dinner,
Mostly because I like
Salted butter &
Watching my family scrape
At leaves with teeth

My sister, last time
Found a bug
Nestled in the crawlspace
Between leaf & heart
And is unenthused
I would be, too
If vegetable
And exoskeleton
Had crunched together

Thumbing the greened ridge
In buttery anticipation
“A vehicle” my mom would say
(Similar to her philosophy
on baked potatoes)
She is a condiment woman

My dad would cook
Add too much garlic
And refuse to apologize,
Then start a conversation
about Hegel
While we breathed at each other





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