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The Cook’s Disguise


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For takeout I wish you would call me and I want for my bell just to ring.

Other times I'm just too busy and I hope you do cook some other thing.

The soup now is boiling, the stew overdue, I question the stove yet it's toiling, but I’m missing the recipe for you.

For dinner you’re just out to stir trouble.

Fingers dripping spoiled milk make a ripple

in the simmer where we broil, chop and shout.

As you push over chairs, you flail at the air and think garlic just might make a difference.

All along with due force, passing your fast, and first course

lingers the River Windrush.

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