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by Norman
Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #2258060
I thought I'd take a cooking class and maybe learn to bake
I thought I’d take a cooking class
and maybe learn to bake.
In my mind I pictured all
the sweet things I would make.

Plates of cookies filled with nuts,
golden apple pies,
chocolate cakes stacked layers high
and cream puffs were the prize.

The Senior Center held the class
and there was quite a crowd.
Those grey haired folks were all pumped up
and they were pretty loud.

I looked around, surprised to see
I was the youngest one.
But everyone was smiling bright;
I thought we’d have some fun.

It started well; I thought it did.
We partnered up in twos.
I thought that was okay with me.
(I didn’t get to choose.)

My partner was an older guy,
much older than my dad.
Okay, I thought, we’ll get along.
But, boy, that thought was bad.

This geezer had his own ideas
on what we were to do.
He ordered me around like he
was boss and I was crew.

It wasn’t long before I snapped;
I’d had enough of that.
So when he turned his back to me
I knocked off his chef’s hat.

This geezer whipped around real fast
and caught me by surprise.
He grabbed some flour in one hand
and threw it in my eyes.

So I just grabbed a big spoon and
I whacked him on the head.
He didn’t even blink at me.
He charged at me instead.

By now they all were watching us
as we began to fight.
I guess it must have look like fun
‘cause they laughed with delight.

We both were rolling on the floor.
I tried to stand up straight.
I had to put an end to it
but I was much too late.

Somebody must have helped him out.
‘cause it all ended fast.
He hit me with a frying pan;
that put me in a cast.

Well, so much for my baking class.
I can’t go anymore.
Instead I wheel on down the street
into the bakery store.

Their cream puffs are the best I’ve had
and I don’t have to bake.
I let them fix them up for me;
it’s better for my sake.

There were no cream puffs in that class.
I won’t go there again.
Those gray haired folks are awfully tough,
I’ll tell you that my friend.
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