Lemonade

My grandmother has a juicer

That looks like a torture device

Made of metal and sleek curves.

Her hands squeeze the lemons

Wringing the last gummy drops

Out into the old glass pitcher.

 

That is not how my mother makes lemonade.

 

My mother bought a kit

Of white and yellow plastic

That looks like a child’s toy.

She rolls the lemons around

Like a bartender making

A mixed drink for a picky boozer.

 

That is not how my father makes lemonade.

 

My father can hammer and screw

And fix a broken bike wheel

And feel very macho doing it.

He tells my brother what tools

To hand him from the toolbox

And I hand him a glass of lemonade.