The radio plays <br />Sunny afternoon, <br />it's The Kinks <br /> <br />She's cooking <br />in the kitchen, <br />and all chaos reigns. <br /> <br />Flour, butter, <br />mixing bowls and <br />her making lemon cake. <br /> <br />She sings loudly <br />as chefs do <br />in restaurants. <br /> <br />It's a lemon cake <br />like ma' used to bake. <br />She warbles <br /> <br />and the radio's blasts, <br />the telephone rings <br />and the dog barks. <br /> <br />Her neighbour, next door, <br />throws a watering can about, <br />in protest. <br /> <br />Fresh lemons fill the air. <br />I watch from the cat basket <br />my whiskers twitching, <br /> <br />fur bristling, back arched <br />eyes - firmly <br />on the cat flap.<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lemon-cake/
