Heartburn

The truth is I have always seen the attraction
in being a chef.
And when people ask me, What’s cooking?
I want to spill the contents of my heart
out on the table
like a pudding.

Yes, a chef’s life
sounds like the life for me,
where people trust you when you’re fat,
where life’s problems can be solved with a stick of butter
and some brown sugar.
There’s something so
comforting and sensuous about it all
that I can see why so many have seen the link
between sex and food.
And speaking of links
I should have learned sooner that sausages
belong in everything,
from eggs to pasta, peppers and pizza.

Of course, the hours being what they are
and that smell in your hair and clothes
that you can’t even wash out after an 18 hour workday,
the sweat and unflattering outfits,
my desire to occasionally see my family on the weekend
or take a walk
or have time to slowly eat an apple
will probably make this unrealistic ambition of mine
nothing more than a dream,
another non-pursuable life path
like an ice cream sundae
dribbled with hot fudge
melted at the perfect temperature
and an endless offering of maraschino cherries
to top it all off
as I stuff my dreams
just like my fears
down deep inside of me
at record breaking speed
so fast
it makes your head just freeze
and your heart ache.