Blood, Red, Hands
I stood in the kitchen chopping up food
to go in the pot and somehow taste good,
While I crooned to my baby and watch for my son
(who thinks stopping the toilet with Barbie is fun).
Red sugar beets to eat and digest,
though cooking and slicing them does make a mess.
My hands look all bloody after they’ve gone in the pot
and sliced and diced the beets and whatnot.
It’s no fun with the kids, they’ve seen it before,
But my husband is going to freak out for sure.
Here he comes and I turn, moaning and trying,
just a bit I don’t want him to think I am dying.
Holding my hands out, calling his name,
I take a step forward and trip on the game
That my son left laying on the floor and you see
my hands are still stained and wet as can be.
Though it isn’t exactly what I was after,
I end this charade with hysterical laughter.
My husband is chuckling at my lack of grace
and the beet red hand prints I left on my face.