You cook with abandon.
This is your hobby,
And you embrace it
With unlimited joy.
Sauce pans, skillets, steamers
All filled and fouled with ecstasy.
Never use the same spatula twice,
Never scrape the remnants in the pan.
Never try to prevent caking or baking residue.
You flit about from dough to dough,
Sauce to sauce wreaking havoc
On the shrinking population
Of unused cookware.
You cook as if no one is watching.
You cook as a chef who has
A cleaning staff on deck
To clear out the refuse after hours.
You dance in your own genius,
Announcing to the world, or the household,
That your Epicurean masterpieces
Have arrived. Unmitigated gusto
Propels you through each course.
You are sated. You are satisfied
With yourself and your subtle
Control of spices and condiments.
As you swallow your last morsel,
You mention casually,
“Well, I cooked, so you can clean.”
Later, when describing your
Unhappiness with your partner,
“He never thanks me
When I cook for him.”