I was going to write a poem on a plate–
scalloped edges, round, and white.
I thought I’d serve up a helping of delicate diction
lightly seasoned with metaphor and image,
garnished with a spring of symbolism.
I had a recipe, “guaranteed crowd-pleaser” it said,
“they’ll be asking for seconds.”
So I found my mixing bowls and spoons,
Clanked though the utensil drawer
and found the measuring cups.
I was ready. My apron strings were tied.
Recipes like this take time and a precise touch.
I read the instructions carefully
then wondered where I’d gone wrong.
I was certain it was more complicated than this:
“Empty contents into saucepan. Simmer gently.”
Hmph! As simple as that, I thought.
Now…where did I put the saucepan?