Monday, March 14, 2022

My Eighty-year-old Mother Petitions God to Assassinate Putin


 

The chemistry of the recipe suits her disposition 
more baker less chef if left to her own stirrings 
baked delicacies would have lavished our meals: 
     her bread best sliced, toasted, buttered 
     homemade granola generous with almonds 
     rhubarb cream pie, rum cake, flan with caramel 
     batches of M&Ms/peanut butter/oatmeal 
     so massive we called the cookies Monster 
Dutifully, she was scientist enough to serve us sensible 
later, a drudgery she shamelessly retired to my Father 

“When did Putin turn puffy?” I’m appalled 
“He’s an old man,” my husband matter-of-facts 
but I think Putin’s body balloons 
pressured by the prayers of mothers 
who choose to flout obligations 
flaunting an appetite to laden him 
with all that is sweet unhealthy
they will his heart to fail faster

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