Lemon Cake

The radio plays
Sunny afternoon, it's The Kinks
She's in the kitchen, cooking.

All chaos reigns,
flour, butter, mixing bowls
her, trying to make lemon cake.

She sings loudly
as chefs do in restaurants,
cafes and bakery shops.

It's a lemon cake
like her ma' used to bake
She sings loudly

and the radio's blares,
the telephone rings
and the dog barks.

The neighbour, next door,
throws her watering can about
in protest of the racket.

Fresh lemons fill the air
as I watch from the cat basket
my whiskers twitching

fur bristling, back arched
my eyes -
on the cat flap.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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