Half-Baked Poem by Marck Riggins

Are these cookies half-baked or is it my plans
The recipe is blurry as my friends make demands
The mixer is whirring and shooting thick dust
The air is dehydrating my eyes and my lungs

Happy, happy times, in carefree style
Music is blasting and are the smiles
I’m reheating the oven to bring on the fire
The beating of ingredients to truly inspire

This muck is the dough, the first of the batch
If only I’d known that this was the catch
To slave in the kitchen, while my guests have fun
I really can’t wait till these cookies are done

If my eyes were to water, then vision would clear
My hacking while racking the cookies of fear
Was it tablespoon or teaspoon? I just couldn’t see
Got to itch my face, lost my place…475* or 420*?

It’s ok, I’ll just roll with the punches
I’ve always been cool when it comes to these hunches
Mix and match, mix it well, might be cake for all I can tell
You know, it ‘s the thought that counts, if I mean well

It’s only been 10 minutes out of 16,
These look a bit darker than the pic that I’d seen
By the look on faces, there are traces
Of the smoke that I can smell
What’s the harm of three-alarm
At the ringing of my doorbell

Can someone get the door
While I’m saving from the oven
These aren’t exactly smores
The box said you would love them

Ok, ok, I know it’s not pretty
So here they are, a party star
But, they chew a little gritty

Let me recommend to you my friend
Because I am so honest
If you have loose teeth, no need
To see an orthodontist