When making a set of pies, there is some give and take.
A little dough here can be moved over there,
And when one has too much filling,
The other can step in ready and willing.
But take too much from the one and you will have none
Of the other.
You will wind up with one big pie,
And a scrap pile filled with would-be’s and why’s.
Life is not a recipe —
We have no reference, we cannot see
How things will end up, or how they will be.
But we can see the one pie grow,
And hear the cries of the other in woe.
Baking is a fine art, done with all the heart,
Dedicated to precision and flavor,
With a vision in mind and a style you favor.
You know not to burn your food
The way your father did, absentminded and cruel.
You know not to add too much spice,
Like your mother whose insults required a lot of ice.
But focus on what it isn’t
And you won’t see what it is.
Things may not be as bad as they could have been,
But in denial starvation begins.
