Sex With Martha
Stewart
No blue light special, she whips
you quickly to stiff peaks, folds
in wet ingredients. Turn and stir,
she orders. Lick the bowl clean.
She comes in colors: ecru, eggplant,
butter. She whispers dirty words
in Polish, arches like a rose trellis.
Her oh's are cookie cutters, giant
copper dogs and cats. If you know
the old family recipe, she purrs.
Or barks. It's a good thing, she yips.
When she's finished, she's a spoon
that eschews its mate. It's late
or early; Martha needs her power sleep.
