You can read the recipe
but don’t understand measurement,
and you wouldn’t choose to follow,
Anyway, I put water, juiced lemons
and sugar syrup into cups
for you to pour; you taste
everything.

The weatherman promises humidity.

You stir, tinkling ice
with a wooden spoon. We toast
each other; you declare it delicious
but won’t take seconds.
What you really like about cooking
the transformation by your own
muscles – the bitter, clear and sweet.

©  

Jonathan B. Aibel is a poet who spends his days wrestling software to the ground as an engineer specializing in quality and testing. His poems have been published, or will soon appear, in Ocean State Review, Soundings East, Pangyrus, Sweet Tree Review, Rogue Agent, Main Street Rag, and elsewhere. He has studied with Lucie Brock-Broido, David Ferry, and Barbara Helfgott Hyett. Jonathan lives in Concord, MA with his family.