Flaming Fiasco Poem by Monica E. Smith
Flaming Fiasco
Opal’s throaty voice
began to quaver, and
she pined for unemployment
as he spoke his request
for dessert.
“I beg mercy, dear sir”,
she nervously interrupted
as she began to sift and dust
powdered sugar over her
table-side creation,
“but does one peel cherries
for flambé? ”
Saturday, April 25, 2009
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4/26/2024 1:31:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
