Cake Mix

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Lied back

Eyes staring upwards

At the Soft Cell poster

Awkwardly tacked to the ceiling

But already beginning to curl at the edges


The sound of crockery clattering

Gently switches me back to reality

The familiar sound of the pot mixing bowl

Rocking back and forth

As Mum beats the eggs with alarming ferocity

(No mechanical aids in sight to whizz the mix into fluffy peaks within 18 seconds)


Is on its way


It’ll be sandwiches

Jelly and custard

Fairy cakes

Potato cakes

Dripping with butter

Hot and golden brown


For years I’ve done this

So I hoof it down the stairs

Eager to lick the bowl

Hoping no-one’s got there first

Mum’s disappeared into a bowl of suds

But has left the bowl and wooden spoon

On the kitchen table



Hurry up and get it eaten!

She urges


I smile back

She’s perspiring

Worn out with doing

I scoff the lot down

As if I’m ravenous

Then stand at her side

And dry

While she washes


◄ I told you

Ocean Blue ►


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chris yates

Thu 4th Feb 2016 15:06

Memories life is made of them a pleasure to have a glimpse into your childhood the good old days uncomplicated pleasures x

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Tue 9th Jun 2015 11:15

Very similar to my Saturday afternoons as a child.
Another great poem

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