Friday, 6 April 2012

When your father left me for a bread machine

Girls, your father left me for a bread machine.

Her sleek and sultry curves enticed.
He could never resist her bread was his vice
slipping his hand through her open lid.
I could never forget, the image wouldn't rid

Your father's objectum held no remorse,
smiling while sifting in his flour,  of course
She kneaded his yeast. folding it in so true
And as he fed her, my hips grew.  

Her buns stayed firm, the perfect size 
mine rippled and quaked, refused to rise.

She permeated my house
with the smell of rising dough,
Taunting me with her hearty whole meal.
I screamed at her to go

She could never plait nor pull
she could never make him full
Never could she roll a perfect quarter inch
Seal pie pastries with a warm tender pinch

I often imagined her unplugged
Pulling out her cord with one quick tug
giving her a push from a tall counter,
before he could again mount her

Why fool myself,
He would just find another.
One more sleek machine
that would happily take his butter

So I turned without anything said,
Knowing that together they created olive bread
swam it through oil, pesto was pleasing
smothered in risotto, Garlic, the perfect seasoning

My friends rallied in support,
telling me she was plastic.
One of a thousand copies mass produced,
While I, unique, able and fantastic.

Good form but empty they said,
Lots of noise with nothing inside,
she would leave him for that water kettle.
suspiciously positioned by her side.

I listened to him moan
Taking and tasting that flaky crust.
He cooed and whispered to her,
"I know that you will never rust."

He brought her delicacies
to share with our friends.
To parties and work,
the torment wouldn't end

Was she a passing fling,
a one night wonder?
How quickly will her loaves mold?
When will her cakes plunder?

I knew his full dietary needs
that she could not continue to cull 
Everything eventually runs its course
Everything will one day lull

A warranty must too end someday
And an appliance the next, so they say
And true to form, she did follow.
Unabashedly, in his despair, he did wallow.

He kept pushing the buttons,
hoping she would respond,
He sat cold in disbelief
He thought nothing could break their bond.

I disposed of her that morning,
Serving him my cake for dessert.
We soaked our slices in custard
with a nostalgic gleeful flirt.

I was sure that he had finally returned,
that it was my heavy cream, he would soon churn
and as we strolled through the local market
He gazed upon a fucking juicer.


  1. Very CUTE! What kind of juice will he making his lovely wife?

    1. Slight twist in the story. The other domestic appliance is still around and doing well. However, she flopped tonight when it came to rye bread. HA!

  2. My favorite line "She kneaded his yeast." I love this one. You amaze me everytime!