The fall

The smell of burning leaves
outside couldn't overpower
the smell of burning croissants

wafting from the downstairs kitchen,
the chaos of
smoke detectors beeping incessantly loud,

while Mom, who never cooks,
grabbed a towel
from the counter to fan

the smoke from the charred
pastries out through
an open window to intermingle

with the smoldering pile of
red and yellow
leaves in our long driveway

behind Dad's old yellow VW
bug and beside
the spot my sister and

I liked to play hopscotch,
retreating to the
outdoors while my brother butchered

Mozart practicing his oboe every
night, our go-to
punching bag for sibling barbs

The beeping stopped but the
smell of smoke
lingered and I wondered if

the rest of dinner was
lost. If we'd
still be eating roast beef

or if Dad would call
Chen's for wonton
soup and takeout for five



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Creative Bloomings prompt 168 - mix-and-match muse