After dinner - reclining sofa-shaped draping thoughts invade the spaces left bare by sustenance I sigh - remain focused on the middle distance barely aware of my son’s insistence his constant mentioning of something sweet A treat – “I feel a little melancholy” I whisper to no-one in particular - the boy hears with those hopeful ears “Is that a cake?” he asks – I shake my head “No, it’s a vegetable” an inattentive answer but - incredibly he wonders if it’s kinda like sweet potato pie!