first time using piping bags, first time making buttercream. both were a smashing, drooling, fork-licking success.
i will write a sonnet about this experience.
whipped and fattened though I may be
the buttercream imitates life.
I should have charged a service fee
for even the happy knife.
it wasn't painless, the process, that is,
as sugar swelled into the air.
sammy's birthday--the cake is all his--
but what a tragedy not to share.
as the icing freezes to a sugary crust
along the abandoned, aging pans,
my portion rapidly turns to dust
as I dutifully lick my hands.
while the decadent memories waft and wade
I thank the Lord who invented homemade.