Elfin Batter Boy

  
It is dark. Words of farewell are spoken with quiet understanding. The humble matriarch is sending her oldest children off to vespers—a time of contemplation followed by the hallowed, monthly birthday bash.

It is an evening fraught with meaning. There will be seven less mouths to feed, for one thing.

And so, with very little water in the house, the aging mother takes out her last, clean wooden spoon, her one remaining baking dish and the ceremonial box of brownies. With no unused measuring cups left, she takes the cleanest dirty one, glances left and right, carefully spits and wipes it dry. Eh?…..who’s gonna know.

With reverence she measures out the amounts…a little oil, a few eggs and some precious drops of water. She will bake this final loaf of chocolate goodness, and then….well……who can say?

Oh WOE, oh WOE,
oh WHOA!

“The pump, it doth not work.
The wires, they are fried.”
“Methinks it will cost plenty,”
Ma thought as she softly cried.

“Control box, new.” (ka-ching)
“Labor, yes.” (ka-ching)
Fixing up this water problem’s
Not a pretty thing.

We will drown our sorrows,
In the chocolate goo….
Warmish brownie goodness,
Nothing else to do.

Laundry can’t be washed.
Dishes can’t be cleaned.
Faces can’t be scrubbed and shined
Of course they never were but then, if only we had water we could think about it….maybe.

Water guy is working,
Toiling in the gloom.
Earning lotsa money
For his brand new family room.

Money flows like water,
Faster, I would say.
Nothing more to talk about
It’s been a tiresome day.

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