Use what you have

~in your refrigerator

~ ~in your icy frozen chest

Don’t reject wilting greens

Don’t fill up the rotting wormy compost

First wipe the steel covered island

~brilliant with silver polished thread

Is she a poet or a cook?

~the cook never slows down

Her studio, a mile away, out of sight,

~in fact, is merely 35 steps away

Long ones, leaping ones

The cook insists: knife needs honing

~with that sharpening steel tool

she temporarily stands firm

Slash, slash, off comes the head

~the lettuce and brain melt into ghee butter.

The poet tries on different gloves

~not hers

She cuts      like an invalid

one too big     the other too small

Enough says the poet.

Enough says the cook.

~go sit in the studio

~do nothing

She stares at the Cooked Poet

~swipes at the Crown of Thorns

Sometimes getting it all wrong

is the next best thing.