I’m making some cookies while Mom’s at the show.
I’m making them perfectly round with this dough.
My dad is asleep and when he comes to life,
I’m sure that he’ll tell me I’ll make a good wife.
I used all the flour and sugar and peas
and tossed in some pickles and even some cheese.
I poured in molasses and pitched in some jam,
and after, decided to throw in some ham.
And now I’m excited just watching them bake.
They’re sure puffing up — and they’re starting to shake!
Oh dear! What’s the matter? Now what will I do?
They’re just like volcanoes — and spitting out goo!
I really can’t stand this! It just isn’t right!
These cookie volcanoes are really a sight!
There’s no doubt about it — my mom will be mad,
but the one in most trouble, I’ll bet, is my dad.
The Lonely Meatball 
A particularly good match between poem and pic. The poor dad is just sleeping away; he has no idea what is happening. That recipe is terribly creative, too. I think I’m gonna throw up.
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What inspired that poem was a jelly roll I was made when I was a teen-ager and my mom was out. Instead of baking the cake part first, I covered the dough with jam and then rolled it up as well as I could. It was quite a trick! I had to taper the ends so the jam wouldn’t ooze out and it looked like a big slug. It never did bake properly and if anything, the hour or so in the oven made it even more disgusting.
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That looks like Nathan.
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