Poem: Domestic Hubris

Domestic Hubris

I tried, again, to make dinner
with the new pressure cooker.
The last time, it worked so well
and I was optimistic,
was ready to have another go,
make use of what I now knew.
But that is dangerous, isn't it,
that sense of certainty,
swaggering, swinging, singing
a song of my own triumph
before it is ever earned.
At least it went bad early enough
we had time to order dinner.

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