How long has this poem been in the fridge? And who let this woman in the kitchen?

I am in total agreement with PoeTry ThursDaY this week! There is no place in your life you can't find a poem. No place! Had I but the time, I'll bet I could write a series of poems on running out of diapers, making pancakes without having eggs, cutting moldy strawberries, cursing the grocery store, and the heart stopping sight of a great yellow snake of a bus, sliding to your door before yesterday's double knots are even taken out of today's sneakers. See! Poetry is everywhere!

Today, for your reading pleasure, poetry is in my kitchen. Lucky for you, I do not know how to take a photo of my kitchen and dongle or doggle it to my computer. Toggle? At any rate, I don't know how to get pictures from my digital camera onto my computer. I could learn, but then my husband might feel under-appreciated, and we can't have that, now, can we?

Here's my poem! Thanks for reading!

Who Says a Working Mother Can’t Write?

Sister, put your apron on, pull the strings tight
and write an ode to artichokes.
Extol the virtues of cold spaghetti
and day-old doughnuts as lunch.
It’s all gestalt if you look at it with a full belly.

Don’t just tiptoe through the dust bunnies.
Take the muse for a ride on the back
of a remote control Spiderman motorcycle.
Let her fall in love with the superhero,
let the web-slinger dump her for Barbie,
let her feel her pain through your pen.

Take a seat, you and the muse, on the dusty, cat-hairy floor.
Put your backs up against the cool, cool oven,
soothe your aching hearts on string cheese and cheerios.
Chase the carbs with some Mott’s shots,
just tilt your heads back and drink the purple down.
Now, get out the broom, sweep up some alphabet magnets,
throw a poem up on the fridge.

The kitchen is always here, grab a knife and write.