Bottom shelf of my fridge

The cake I bake
Is not a frosted monster
Ice-capped, pink-tipped
Whipped peak perfection
Alluring to the touch
Dome of sugar
A sponge too soft
That’s the cake he steals to the fridge for
While I sleep
To not hurt my feelings

***

Week-old breadcrumbs
Day-old egg wash
Swirled with rosemary
Fritters and foam
in a languishing pint of beer
Potatoes scrubbed and peeled
await a pan
I cobble the stragglers together
to find I have run out of salt

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