Kitchen is Watching

So…

I’m your chopping block,

Your sauce pan,

The butcher knife

You diced and minced the onion with,

And…

The means by which you cut your finger,

So careless, you.

Looking out the window,

Leaves fly about

Like alien birds

With raised crystalware.

Your inebriated costume party guests-of questionable identity-

Wave their lace sleeves,

Their fists pounding the voting table,

Shouting their choice for leader

Amongst others crying,

The sky is falling,

The sky is falling.

I’m your clever waitress,

Curiosity hidden beneath stoic face,

Ladling a glass of punch for myself,

Determined to find the cause of such bubbly frolickers.

Puzzled by the taste,

The absurdity of clashing ingredients

Is determined to remain your secret.

Yes…

I’m smiling at you,