Baking Poem by David McLansky
Baking
She bakes for him a birthday cake;
(As if my mind was not awake)
I ascend the stairs, she’s on the phone;
(Awkwardly, she changes tone)
And when she leaves, she droll inquires,
“What do we need? ” That I’d expire?
I dryly mention orange juice,
And then she’s gone, what’s the use?
A lingering smell of her perfume
Scents the air and haunts the room.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/25/2026 8:15:38 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
mask and mask no one willin to open though people has nose to smell /baking nowadays i hope in almost all family///thanx a nice poem read mine i will not let you alone, i will make a graveyard, o my almighty nice feel to vote