Kitchen Psychosexual

creepy men

in toxic kitchens

itchin’

for some spicy action

underneath the namesake apron

beneath the pompous floppy hats

cooking!

it’s not that big a deal

mate

women do it

EVERY DAY

sometimes three times

and on Sundays

plus school lunches

minus sous-chefs

paygrades

dishpigs

prizes or

5-star reviews

not to mention

please or thankyous

just a mile-high

pile of dishpans

no-one’s gonna scrub

but her

okay, you sauté

grill and flambé

tiny snacks

on massive platters

amuse-bouches

disguised as fodder

a petal here

an acorn there

a shred of fish

a chocolate streak and

OMG

the Guy’s a genius

cue the fawning

unleash cheers

(he thanks his nonna

shedding tears

her hearty stews

reduced to smears)

and money’s gushing

into coffers

as slick as cold pressed

extra virgin

who wouldn’t want

to cop a feel

or be touched up

or groped

or monstered

by such an awesome gang

of tossers

pancake flippers

burger kings.

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