Whirl of Food Processor and I, In Space
I was preparing a blue-berry cake for supper,
Foaming it saw some spinning rings on the syrupy mixture
It reminded me of the sequence of cosmos;
As the planets spin on their ever homely compass
The sugar, flour, soda and the eggs
Circling still inside my food processor.
I ogle and solicitously imagine,
If I’m thrown away at space with such a whirl,
Shall I swivel in the infinity?
Or-shall I be smashed; otherwise, be crushed by the aliens?
The space scientist would better answer it,
My data is limited, to me, all these are worthless, I never know;
I just know how to mingle the mixture of a cake,
I’m a poor mixture machine operator.
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