A Poem For The Other Bear (and her kitchen) (and mine)

This isn’t the first time we’ve tackled the kitchen
Two years since the last go, I’ve finally stopped twitching
(You thought I was going to say something else?
Well, shame on you, buddy, get over yourself!)

Sick and tired of joint compound up in our gobs,
We’ve decided, at long last, to finish the job
(It wasn’t for lack of desire we quit:
We ran out of money to throw in the pit)

Last round netted new stove, and faucet, and fuses
Even a dishwasher Johnny never uses
(I do not know why he needs do them by hand
Some parts of that man I’ll never understand.)

We got some new cabinets, but that’s where we left it.
We had to – our bank account verged on berefted.
(Making up words is just one of my vices;
Maybe you’ve heard about poetic lices?)

Our account isn’t flush now, by any long shot
But we’ve got to make do with the do that we’ve got.
(And, as with that Stone Soup we’ve all heard about,
The things that we can’t have, we must do without.)

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my Dublin jackeen,
It’s you don’t have to starve to live like a beguine.
(A word that no one in this hemisphere knew.
That’s right, Other Bear, I’ve finally got to you!)

We can make soups on hot plates, turkey in rotiss’
We could try to Pavlova – tell us what it is!
(What leaves you not-dead, they say, leaves you stronger.
Down Under, I hear, this takes even longer)

Kitchen-wide renovation’s too much for one year
You’ve got to prolong it, squeeze out every last tear
(O.B will end first, though: she’s one day before us—
Maybe that’s how she beat y’all to the thesaurus!)