The Ballad of the Cake

[earlgreytea68]

 

On Sunday I was given a cake.

Pistachio in flavor.

I had a piece of it every night,

But to finish it, needed a favor.

 

The season of Lent was swiftly approaching,

A time when I find it meet,

In order to engage in a sacrifice,

To give up the eating of sweets.

 

So what to do with this cake, you see?

Delicious, but too much to complete

In the course of two days; it soon became clear

Someone else would inherit my treat.

 

The original plan seemed so failsafe.

On Tuesday nights I always have dinner

With a friend and her husband who could take home the cake—

Alas, this plan was not a winner.

 

My job interfered, as it normally does.

It’s the curse of all best laid plans.

I found myself still at work at nine,

And a pistachio cake on my hands.

 

Now there was a solution to this all, I confess:

Put the cake in the kitchen at work.

But did I mention how I was still at work at nine?

Not inclined to share cake as a perk.

 

Aha! Thought I. For no dimwit am I.

I took all the cake I could carry,

And I met them for lunch, and I gave it to them.

Yes, the cake went to  arctacuda(*) and Larry. 

(It reads better with her real name.)

Comments

[bouncy-castle79.livejournal.com]

Oh, ye gods.

You know, I love the use of the word "meet" in this particular context. People don't use it that way often enough for my taste. Probably because it is no longer 1748.

[earlgreytea68.livejournal.com]

Its advantage, obviously, was it rhymed with "sweets."

[arctacuda.livejournal.com]

She gazed forlornly at the pale floral design on the plate, pondering from whose imagination the design had first emerged. Who designs plate patterns for a living, she wondered as she idly toyed with the saran wrap. Whose job is it to approve or reject these patterns? Who said, "Yes, yes, but make it peach not lavender"? By the time she realized she was thinking about the copyrighting of dinnerware designs she knew she was avoiding the issue. It wasn't the plate she cared about--it was the cake. And what a cake it was! Pistachio with chocolate, and a glaze so delicate she wanted to write a sonnet about it. The temptation was there--just a small taste, no one need know!--but in her heart she knew it would be wrong. And so she gave the cake away, not daring to take a last glance back at it for fear that she would change her mind. And though she smiled at her virtuousness, a small part of her heart broke in that moment, and she knew that next year she would give up soda for Lent instead.

[earlgreytea68.livejournal.com]

This is truly beautiful. I thank you for it.