The 'Kitchen Aid' my instrument of love
allowing me to bake and mix and whip
my way into the hearts of those I love.
First sugar then the butter I will tip
into her sleekly shining silver bowl.
Her sculptured body seemingly upset
by flour, batter, cream - all take their toll.
Ruffling her cool exterior. Can she regret
her role as comfort feeder? For the sake
of hungry mouths for whom I love to bake?
With pizza, pies and pastries I entice
my daughter's friends to tea and in a thrice
the treats are gone. Its left to me to wash
her, ready for the next delicious nosh.
