about
your ex baking you cookies,
betty asks me as she applies
an ointment to the rash
on my back.
heat rash, i tell her,
or maybe it's that new
polyester shirt i've been wearing
when i go out
disco dancing.
sweat and polyester just
don't get along.
ya know?
whatever, she says.
but back to the cookies.
we're they any good?
damn right they were good.
name a cookie, go ahead
name any cookie
and she could make it.
peanut butter sandies.
pfffft. are you kidding me.
she could whip up a dozen
of those before you could
whistle dixie.
chocolate chips, those almond
things with powdered
sugar. oatmeal. ginger snaps.
she was a magician in
the kitchen when it came
to baked goods.
real cooking was a problem,
though. i don't think
she'd ever touched
a chicken or a pork chop
in her life. but
i wish i had one of her cookies
now and again
to dip into a cup of coffee.
so what was the problem with her?
i shake my head and laugh.
what wasn't?
whew, long story, but
go back to year 2018 and 19
in the blog,
the whole crazy tale is there.,
hey, what up?
you're not rubbing anymore,
come on, snap to it.
and can you throw in some
scratching too.
pretty please.
i'll bake you a chicken later,
if you're hungry.
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