Cat Head Biscuits
by Ronald Tobey
You consecrated your log cabin
As official nest for your child
Four months in the way.
I organized a meal for midday,
To preside, two elderly ladies,
A competition to impress you
Fought out for generations
In Baptist Church basement kitchens
Over biscuit recipes and their making
Shortening and pans and their baking.
Our little party of eight
Two dozen biscuits ate
With homemade butter, honey, and jams.
A young couple, transplants,
Nouveau hippies you called them,
Ground the flour
Churned the buttermilk.
No one could really win such a contest
Each biscuit was a glory of quick bread,
But you selected, for its name, Cat Head
Biscuits of Baptist Undercroft fame.
You were excited in the evening
Eager to practice
On the kitchen floor by the iron stove
Techniques sanctioned by Lamaze nurses,
Your recipe for my cock
Making it stiff and straight as the stove pipe
Then bathed it with saliva
And hand administered vaginal juices,
Cat Head technique, you said,
Laughing, and mounted me.