Hoping I Can Cook
I’m standing at the stove, so hot and tall,
hoping I can cook,
but I’m intimidated, short and small,
even with my book.
I search the cabinets, corners, drawers, and nooks.
I’m looking for the meat -
some lamb chops, chicken legs, or fish Dad hooked -
to put into the heat.
A veggie now, and lunch will be complete.
Put carrots in the stew.
And hey, this peanut butter sure tastes neat!
I think I’ll cook that too.
My soup is bubbling now, and turning blue.
I think I did it wrong.
It’s looking quite a bit like witches brew,
and smelling rather strong.
The stuff expands, explodes! Just like a bomb!
The splotches on the wall
confirm what I’ve been thinking all along:
I just can’t cook at all!
