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. 

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