In my life

The Bermuda Triangle

Exists where the fridge, stove

And sink form a triangle

In our kitchens…

Most days my retired husband

Becomes lost in this area

For hours…

Cutting, searching, searing,

From morning til dark until

Something edible appears but

Not appealing to my taste buds…

After hours of toil and tasting and

Tasting and more tasting…

He might give up and place it in a bowl

in the cold corner of our

Triangle for another day of adding

More ingredients or just lingering

Til a green slim appears and the

Other corner becomes useful

To wash it away…

I seldom venture in to inquire

Or taste less I be ask to help

Clean up the mess…

For the past 13 years since my retired

Groom stopped working I have turned

Over this triangle of my life to him…

To love and cherish as I once did

When it was my domain…

Since then pots have been burned,

Dishes have smashed, cutlery have

Turned missing…expensive knives

Have appeared that I never thought

We could afford…

Like me he realizes the mess has to

Be cleaned and the eaters will never

Be around to help as they have disappeared

From this triangle which they only

Relish when the aromas bring them rushing

In for the tasty plates…

But like all who venture into the triangle

Disappear, including his retired bride…