My wife went out to our yard and
Allowed the children to play
While she plucked up from our garden
Ingredients for the day
Of cooking she had planned
With fresh tomatoes, peppers and spices.
Over a hot stove she would stand
Creating some tasty new vices
For me and our dinner guests to try.
These specially made combinations
Were very pleasing to the eye
When presented as calm sensations
But before then, it’s intense
With the chopping and sauce splatters
The mess becomes immense
Although it’s taste that truly matters.
I start to do some reasoning,
And decide to boil water.
While she’s overworked with seasoning
I’ll make the kitchen hotter.
I’m stirring but my boiled over pasta mocks
The way I try to help with cooking dinner
I followed the instructions on the box
But perhaps it’s too advanced for this beginner.
Soon everything’s laid out and ready.
The conversation starts with “who’s the cook?”
My answer’s simply “I made the spaghetti.”
Then my wife gives me that look.
One thought on “Me and My Spaghetti”
Thank you for this funny poem that I read after taking kids to the expensive, but cheapest Catholic school in Nashville. I drank coffee at the bagel shop then came home to clean up after the kids. Maude’s computer was on the table so I read what was there and it was your poem again thank you for caring for my 2nd child while she is far away from home. Also, thank you for your other poems which I have enjoyed reading. Now I will look for other diversions and let the kids clean up when they get home.