My cooking has committed suicide
and you are needed in the kitchen please—
the salt just went and overdosed
the pork that rests in peas.
The eggs have fried to Finland
and bacon burned to blitz;
the spuds have popped their eyes;
you ask, What kind of dish is this?
The turnovers fought, flopped—and dropped
and there must be a killer on the stovetop
because my dishes are almost death
defying!
And it’s no use crying over spoiled meat
no more
hollandaise, beurre blanc, or quick reductions;
they stuck permanently to the pan due
to high conduction.
You are needed in the kitchen.
The dish has run away with the spoon
and Betty Crocker rolls an eye’
it’s not cake and it’s not pie.
The beans have burst like tiny cysts,
the soup has slipped away like mist,
and all the while I shake my fist.
You are needed in the kitchen.
A cake, a toast, a pan-seared roast,
all black as when the eyes are closed.
Greens are brown and brownies hard,
and now I know what’s in the lard.
Farewell, Adieu, and Best Regards,
I am no longer in the kitchen.
has a love of corn fields, rivers, trains, and funk. Her poems have appeared in Crowstep Poetry Journal; The Ekphrastic Review; Eunoia Review; Seasons: Poems from the Southwest Journal Poetry Project (Trolley Car Press, 2010); Silver Birch Press; Tiny Seed Literary Journal; Topical Poetry; and Trouvaille Review, among others. She lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota with her husband and dog.
