The ratty kitchen cupboard door
stood open every morning.
And everyday I told my kid,
“This is your final warning!
“You have to, must and always will
keep spices from the light
within the safety of the doors,
the cupboard closed up tight!”
“Sorry pop, it wasn’t me,”
the youngest one would say.
“I’d never harm the cinnamon.”
One day he moved away.
That open kitchen cupboard door
kept pestering my life.
Mistake! for it was not my child:
Was my forgetful wife.
“Oh honey, dear, please help me out
and do me a big favor:
Please close the cupboard door at night
so spices we can savor.”
“Don’t ‘honey me’ with open doors;
forgetful I am not.
I, too, protect the tarragon
and rind of apricot.”
After many years of open doors
she passed while sound asleep.
I cried for days, din’t eat a bite,
spent nights a‘counting sheep.
Then hunger knocked one afternoon,
I craved a spicy stew.
Aghast! the cupboard doors thrown wide!
I din’t know what to do!
The cupboard doors I had removed,
And now I clearly see:
T’was not my son nor lovely wife,
The guilty one was me