Monster Maven

January 22, 2009
By Becki Steinberg, Avon, CT

Aproned monster bends over full
As she hoists up the pan,
On the handle she pulls,
With her satin jeweled hands

Peeks into the haven,
Of the source of her pride
For it has made her the maven
Of the upper west side

Slides the cookie sheet in,
Radiating warmth and content
Adjusts her sapphire pin,
Wafts Chanel No. 5 scent

Nudges the stainless steel back
To its regular place
In the cool rushing black
She appraises her face

Enters the secret code
Of the magic recipe
That the batter will goad
Into perfect harmony

With the chocolate and salt,
So smooth and so lush
Stark naked of fault
And fine to the touch.

Perfect, she gloats
I’ve done it again
It will ooze down their throats;
I need no lovers or men

A young boy rushes in,
Interrupting her thoughts
Bringing grubby nails and skin,
A t-shirt stained by ketchup spots

Mommy, he cries,
Come out, play with me,
As he clings to her thighs
And nestles her knee

Not right now, she chides
It’s the gala tonight
And with purpose she strides
From his grip, frantic, tight

So he lowers his hands
Like on all other nights
As she fades into the land
Of one million lights.

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