I see the tins I used for Christmas Cakes
The Russian Cheese Cake and the apple tart
Nowadays do younger women bake?
I remember mother making Buns
Hot,uncross, she made cakes with her heart
Her apple suet pudding beat her plum
The kitchen was a room with its own fire
There we ate and cooked and fought,alarmed
Children pinch and nip and even bite
I banged my head upon the table sharp
The corners seemed to hate me,even spurn
I wished I were a dog so I could bark
I fell down the stairs, it was a thrill
It hurt less than the beatings made me smart
Children were deprived of any will
Shall these cake tins from my home depart?
Shall I make a small cake from a chart?
I hold the tin I used for Christmas Cake
Watching TV where new experts bake
In this so called office,I am trapped
Trying hard to write and to adapt
I have numerous pens in this my cell
Reminding me of school, the longed for bell
Ten past four, we put on winter clothes
I crossed the Park in fog, it wet my nose
Walking down our street I’d see the cat
Sitting on the pavement, Ginger spat
I put the kettle on to make our tea
The coal glowed low and red like elves in glee
The aluminium teapot never broke
The kettle had turned black , the milk was smoked
I had that tiny piece from others free
That was when I learned that I am Me
I’ve spent so long listening to Leonard Cohen when I’ve been sad,I now have a semi- Canadian accent.
One day I was at the bus stop and noone was around so
I sang “Joan of Arc” which takes 7 minutes
The nest time I met a friend, she said,I didn’t know you could
sing.She was behind her hedge!
I used to listen to the same songs over and over again