You can’t pop a poem in the oven
set the timer
go about your business
until–DING–it’s done.
You can’t press your finger to your poem
its pillow top
springs back
when it’s ready
You can’t take your poem’s temperature
measure the thermometer’s rise
190° and it’s not quite ready
212° and it’s too dry
You can’t listen to your poem
sizzle and crackle as it bakes
wait for the softer, slower sound
wait for the softest, slowest sizzle
You can’t skewer the center of your poem
with toothpick or knife blade
wet batter means undercooked
set the timer for five more minutes
April is National Poetry Month. I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, a daily poetry writing challenge. This poem was inspired by some of my wonderings about poetry. Like, how do you know if it’s done? I was about to write a prose piece to explore this question, when I realized it could become a poem. I did a bit of research about ways to test cakes for doneness just in case I’d overlooked something and was delighted to learn that you can, in fact, listen to a cake baking. The language in the fourth stanza is taken from Emma Christensen’s 5 Ways to Tell If Your Cake Is Done.
the dirigible plum 
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