Memories of a distant past

It was just after World War II,
When things were still quite tight,
A dear family’s day went all askew
When a car pulled into sight.

The local pastor seemed to come
At mealtime when he’d visit.
“He’s a bachelor, “chuckled some,
Their answer to, “Why is it?”

This precious Midwest family
Would always welcome him,
For the meal if satisfactory,
A worry if too slim.

Well, groceries were used up this day,
Leftovers, even, meager.
Add a few spuds; make it okay,
Sparse lunch, but all were eager.

The steaming bit of food in bowls,
Time to set the table.
Into the driveway that car rolls;
To feed Pastor, they weren’t able.

“Quick, the cupboard,” Mother said;
Brother set away the food.
Father sat and shook his head;
Sister’s giggles were subdued.

Pastor was cordially asked in,
Sat to visit, when in horror,
Mother saw steam from within
Curling out from the cupboard door.

They solemnly listened, attentive eyes,
Hoped the visit soon would end.
The message shared was compromised,
As for their lunch they yenned.

As he closed his book, picked up his hat,
Little sister piped a question.
More conversation? Oh, not that.
“How about later?” was Dad’s suggestion.

The pastor was warmly bid, “Come back.”
With smiles and wishes, they waved.
“Should we eat it cold, for all its lack,
Or just warm up what we’ve saved?”

Mother praised their self control,
Politeness to their guest.
Although scanty, on the whole,
Their dinner had been blessed.