(‘What do women want?’ they ask. Its quite simple. Really.)
One day he’s gonna cook me a meal
A big meal
A big monster of a meal
With perfectly roasted crispy potatoes
And succulent garden-grown baby carrots
Nesting like sneaky little surprises
Beneath some richly flavoured sauce
And for once his timing will be perfect
He will go to all that trouble
Of scraping and slicing and peeling and dicing
Of reaching boiling point
And taking care not to burn
And taking time over all those little details
And stirring and blending and caring and worrying
Breaking down over the crème caramel
But not wanting any help or instructions
And never, no never
Giving up and making pilchard sandwiches
With stale bread
Like an exuberant Egon Ronay
On a willow-pattern dinner plate
Swirling with dancing tongues of curling steam
And offer it to me like some long lost treasure
And I am not going to say thank you
I am not going to say aren’t you having some
I will eat it, insatiable
Sucking it up like an empty whale
My head stuck right in there
Cramming my mouth with a vegetable paradise
Grunting over the creamy horseradish
Gobbling like some hysterical piglet
Slopping it everywhere
My face mottled with dark ripples of gravy
Which run unstoppable down my chin
My neck my breasts
And congeal
In a brown solid stain
Right where my heart is
One day he’s gonna cook me a meal
And I’m gonna run my hands through it
Feel the quelch of steaming mash
Squeeze those pretty little peas till they pop
Cram my ears full of pulpy swede
Burrow into the thick nest of buttered cabbage
Gorge and wallow and swim around
In the sweet-smelling juices
Till the cows come home
Till I burst with greed
Till I can’t breathe any more
I’ll probably die
But it’ll be worth it
Cos hell
I’ve been waiting for this meal
A long time.
I loved this poem…I don’t know who the poetess is but she’s filled in so much passion...so much desire and all the pent up anger! Ah… the agony of the woman in the kitchen… the anguish of the suppressed woman… the desire of the perpetual giver....
