A tin labeled tomato,
a tired, hungry man.
Novice cook with a ladle
and a fresh opened can.
He gave me the spoon,
poured the milk out to measure,
stepped back from the stove,
"Now, it's your turn, my treasure."
"Mix the milk in real slow,
you stir and don't stop
till the bubbles you see
dance around on the top."
Well, I stirred and I stirred.
Now, don't let it burn!
It was steamy and creamy,
this lesson I learned.
He came back fresh showered
from the soil and the sun.
I had cooked for my daddy.
His heart I had won.
This day's prompt was to cook up a poem with a recipe in it. My contribution is my ten year old self trying to feed my father farmer something to eat as my mom was sick in bed.
For more in the flavor:http://magalyguerrero.com/finger-licking-good/
