Get Your Premium Membership

Gingerbread Houses and the Frosting Factory

Poet's Notes

Become a Premium Member and post notes and photos about your poem like Eve Roper.

Since I was, but a child, I loved frosting on everything. Frosting on cupcakes, cookies, and cakes. I would put my fingers in the frosting bowl or cakes, and lick them off when mother wasn't watching. I worked very hard, my own personal unpaid employee. I came up with a great invention. A waterwheel with paddle attachment used to cream together the butter and the sugar. It came time for a grand-opening by throwing a fancy-dress ball. Everybody in the surrounding towns were all excited. When the day of the celebration arrived and as evening fell; everyone arrived lining up outside in their fanciest gowns and suits. Suddenly there was a flash of colorful lights and smoke in front of the crowd. I stood in my best. "I am your guest of honor." I shouted. "I am going to escort all of you through my frosting factory." I whisked them all away through, squeezed them into tight corners of the factory. With all the commotion they began to shout and push each other. They had encircled to see the endless sweets whipped, whisked, beat, creamed, shredded, ground, and spiralized by a big giant. I shouted, "Anything delicious you can dream up, we create." They had danced and jumped and screeched in sheer joy. The parents cut out paper patterns for their gingerbread houses. They lived happily ever after. 5/22/2020 Poetry Contest: Willy Wonka Is Not Here So What Is My Factory Going To Make Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.