Wood ignites in the dusty pit.
The man never bothers to clean it.

He's sat on a chair piled with cooking books.
They increase his height.
The man knows this.
And so to past time
He swings his feet.

Face, as dull as always,
He revels in silence.

You'd think he was dead
How unresponsive he was to the world.

He always knew what he
wanted to become in life,
Cooking was his one love.
One push out the door
from a big name, though,
Gave no space for a comeback.

He's put up a shield
to block out the world.
No longer looks forward to fun.

What is he doing with the rest of his life,
He's spending his time drinking ***.

© J-d S. J