- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Being the morning cook
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Restaurant is dark, silent. I flip on lights,
press the double-decker stove’s ignite button.
Burners dragon to life. Their gentle whoosh
will be a white-noise soundtrack
for the next few hours. I check the plastic
barrels of thin-crust dough left
to rise overnight. Dough is warm, soft,
smells alive. I roll the barrels beside the stove to finish
rising while I make thick-crust dough.
Big mixer thumps as it kneads
twenty-five pounds of pizza flour, yeast and water.
When the thick-crust dough is ready, I’ll dump it
into barrels, set them next to the warm stove to rise
while I roll out thin-crust pizzas. This is the best
part of my work day. Peaceful and quiet,
just stove, dough, mixer and me.
