poetry

mistakes pour out
like butter on a hot day
across the stovetop
of my life
and scum sticks
to me.

My job is incomplete
for the burners of my heart
and mind are caked with
grease and old dried up food
that I can not be used.

I wait patiently to be cleaned
taken apart piece by piece
and scrubbed
each part
to look good as new
ready to be used.

STOVE

BY: April B. Lord