So November has went into hibernation, and it’s back to the poem-a-week challenge, thank heavens.
Here is one of my more lighthearted pieces in which I combined two things I love: shopping and baking. Enjoy!
I wasn’t even shopping for a husband
that day in Dayside,
but I found one—
so fetching in his baker’s cap,
like a special-order nutcracker.
He wasn’t brand-new,
but he still worked;
he’d been on the shelf awhile,
but, like flour or dandruff,
he could be dusted off.
He wasn’t perfect,
but I would be the sandpaper
that would smooth his rough edges.
I would make him mine.
He wasn’t on clearance,
so that was attractive to me—
he wasn’t even for sale,
but he talked himself into it.
True, he had never been bought,
but neither had he ever been returned.
I decided to take him home,
feeling I got a bargain,
so I married him,
getting a little bun in the oven as a rebate,
a bun who came out smelling buttery sweet.
Though there have been times
I’ve wanted to return him,
for I threw away the receipt
when I said, “I do.”
He wouldn’t quite fit anyone else now
(at least without much reworking),
and neither would I,
so I’ll keep him for the rest of his life
I go to play with my little loaf of bread,
now rising and still rising,
with the pretty pink tie at the top,
as I happily await the next little bun,
made with the same, all-natural ingredients,
and yet unique and wonderfully made.