Sundays

[Brownlie]

I don't want to edit the life out of this before hearing some of your thoughts. Call it respect. 
 Sundays
 
In a way I lost them both last year;
one to ashes, the other to dissolve
her last sugars into safe, appropriate cups of tea.
 
What's hardest for me is the smell of bacon.
It ghosts me back 
to Sunday mornings in '83 -- There seems to be a metrical hiccup here, to me. Set in '83? Or a maybe a better word than set if you want that effect. 
and Coronation Street roostering -- This is compelling in a way.
it's theme song on colour TV. -- Maybe describe this sound more, if you feel inclined to do so. 
 
Someone would shout, "Come in,
sit down, shut up, it's on",
and we'd come in,
sit down
and yap 'til it was done.
 
I stay away from bacon now,
but one of these Sundays
"I'll fry up a storm"
(as Dad would say),
and maybe even take some to Mom,
in hopes the smell still haunts her.

I guess this is sort of a vignette dealing with grief. I think there is a vignette thread here, perhaps that will be useful.