Please Don't Die on Me

I didn't mean to hurt you.
You've been a true friend--
By my side for seven years.

There for me for every child's birthday cake,
Every batch of cookies.
Never shrinking from the little fingers that assaulted you
As we filled your bowl with frosting or whipping cream.

I was just so distracted this morning.
Two kids in the backyard
Taunting the wild chihuahua next door.
The other one wrapped around my legs
Nose running,
Begging to be held.

Besides, you've been so strong in the past.
The time I made the quadruple batch of cinnamon rolls,
The royal icing fiasco,
And the endless batches of sticky pumpkin cookies
Made me think you could handle anything.

I had always babied your predecessors,
Easily done in by stiff frosting
Or pound cake batter.
But you, with your strong stand and gleaming metal bowl,
Seemed invincible.

So I didn't think twice
When I loaded you
With four cups of sugar (two white, two brown),
Four eggs,
A pound of butter,
Six cups of flour,
Two cups of cocoa,
Three cups of semisweet chips,
And assorted extracts and leavenings.

But I've been baking long enough to know,
That a sweet smoky smell,
Is a harbinger of death for your kind.

So I turned you off quickly,
Removed your bowl gently,
And said a silent prayer.

Please don't die on me.
I've imagined a sweet future together.
We can collaborate on sweet batches of ganache,
Gentle puddings,
And fluffy buttercreams
Until you're feeling better.

-originally published 1/06