She bakes for him a birthday cake;
(As if my mind was not awake)
I ascend the stairs, she’s on the phone;
(Awkwardly, she changes tone)
And when she leaves, she droll inquires,
“What do we need? ” That I’d expire?
I dryly mention orange juice,
And then she’s gone, what’s the use?
A lingering smell of her perfume
Scents the air and haunts the room.
David McLansky
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/baking-4/
