the yellow cake

you take out
the big blue bowl,
three large eggs
from the fridge,
a spoon, a spatula,
some vanilla cake mix,
water and oil.
a measuring cup.
you set the oven
at 325, let
it warm up.
you grease
a pan, get out
the mixer,
let the icing
soften, you
write out, i
love you on
a generic card
with a picture
of a dog on
the front chasing
a red ball.
you put a gift
certificate
into the card.
a hundred bucks
to a local restaurant.
you make the cake,
mixing it slowly
in the bowl,
following directions,
looking at the clock
from time to time.
with a wooden spoon
you slide it all
into your nine
by twelve pan,
and lick the spoon
clean after setting
the pan onto the top
rack in the oven. you
open the kitchen
window and see
a blue stack
of clouds rising
in the distance,
a cool breeze blows
in, but no rain
comes down.
you stick
a tooth pick into
the top of the risen
cake after thirty five
minutes, then take
it out. the toothpick
is clean. after
letting it cool,
you frost
the golden top
with a spatula.
lathering a
thick layer
of chocolate with short
broad strokes,
you then spell
out happy birthday
in fancy script
with a squeeze
tube of white
icing. you look in
the kitchen drawer
for candles, but there
are none. it doesn't
matter. you carry
the cake into
the other room
and place it on
the center of the table,
next to the vase
of yellow flowers,
and the clean white
card without a name
tilted against
the crystal vase.
then you go sit down
with a book,
and wait. it must
be someone's birthday
somewhere, you imagine,
and you are ready.