Béchamel Sauce
Somewhere within me I rarely choose to visit,
I suspect this is perhaps not going to work, and
she’s insisting it should only ever be made
with all-purpose flour, though I’ve been
coping fine with cornflour, or store-brand
packet mixes for years, and it comes out OK
three, possibly, four times out of seven.
And everything in her kitchen matches like
it was all bought with a flawless shrug
and a customary swipe of the store card.
But then we share uncannily similar tastes
in music – Wagner, Kid Creole – and I like
the way she likes the way I smell, even if
I don’t. I’m rafted to this quaint belief that
if you put the work in, there’s no limit
to the lumps that can’t be smoothed out.
first published in Cacti Fur, 2016
Wonderful poem! Masterful writing. 🙂
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Wow – thanks! I’ve never been entirely sure about this one, so to get such a positive comment is great!
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I like everything about this poem; the authentic voice, rhythm moving line to line, the reflection of relationship. Keep on sharing your work.
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Wow, thanks Ali. Hope you keep reading!
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