The egg-timer is doing its thing, seconds roll by, then minutes, hours and days,
put some of this thyme in your soup, a sprig, and a mouse’s paw full of basil.
The clock is ticking loudly, louder than hell,
My pants have caught fire, I’m hot down…there.
Cooking has it’s hazards, but the end result is divine!
You just put it all away, and order some round, Italian wine.
People use wine in a saucepan, this is a waste,
you gotta get hammered in the kitchen, imbibe with reckless haste.
Knives are quite scary when your head is spinning,
your cat flees for its life,
along with your wife,
This trifle you’re making doesn’t need knives, does it?
The egg-timer bursts into flames and melts on the counter,
bloody cheap thing was “made in China”.
Now you’re out of time, and thyme too.
You may need some help, you’ve finished that booze.
The next day you wake up, on the floor of the kitchen,
Your wife is cleaning the place up with a murmur and a bitching!
Did you make the dish you intended to make,
Last night’s chef adventures are all but a haze!
Only time will tell, only thyme will say,
whether the dish, finished or not, floating somewhere in the ether,
is a tasty one, or too salty, too sour in a horrible way,
We will have to wait, for some food-related diseases!