Cindy did for the birthday cake.
Damn the thing anyway,
As if enough Bisquick and bullshit could
Make her husband keep his dipstick where it belongs,
And keep her kids from going wrong,
And make everything as orderly as the numbered pages of a Redbook magazine,
Lined up flush and sequential,
Not loonbat crazy in the middle of the afternoon.
Cindy did for the birthday cake
With a ginormous honking big knife
Longer than a mother in law's memory,
And someone's got to answer for that,
For the gashes in the easy to clean table cloth
And the fucked up frosting
And anything and everything that Cindy faked since forever,
Like interest and orgasms and staying sober until five.
Cindy did for the birthday cake,
And it felt hella good.
for the dverse Tuesday night cattle call
my 300th Word Garden post of 2011