The kitchen was a disaster
Of dirty pots and pans,
While crystals of salt and sugar
And crusted food particles
Adorned the stove burners and top.
Broken egg shells in the sink
And a flour-dusted counter
Were witness to my earlier attempt
To bake a chocolate cake,
Same cake that sadly
Sank deeply in the middle
And leaned wearily to one side.
The roast for which I’d such high hopes,
Though nicely browned on top,
Was dry as an African desert.
Green peas shriveled in a bowl
Near glue-like mashed potatoes,
And gravy with gravel-shaped lumps.
The lemon jello salad had refused to gel,
And bits of crushed pineapple
Were swimming in a golden pool.
The biscuits, supposed to be flaky,
Were hard as dried-out play-dough.
Never one to worry over trivialities,
I proudly called to the table,
Mama, Daddy, sisters, and brothers
To share with me the first entire meal
I’d ever prepared all by myself.
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