OUR DILIGENT COOK

Her thick
snicker-snap steps
go clickity-clack,
heel to toe.
A weighted truck
across the Linoleum,
rumbling, as if, on cobblestone

She pirouettes a dervish of
gnarled hands clutched full
with powdery utensils,
studying the fine print
on the back of a Graham cracker box

The whiz-grind spinning
of bladed Kitchen Aid muses
Hair mussed with dough
and pale flour rouge
upon apple cheek.
A flair of apron strings.

No.
Not yet.
Forty-five minutes to go,
or until, light and bubbly.
She collapses
amidst a fouled heap
of rags and sticky dishes,
content to start planning
tomorrow’s dinner menu.