Someone to Frost my Cake

I love baking. A lot. Yesterday, I baked a cake for a family 

party. All was coming out roses until it came time to frost. 

I'm not gonna lie: I've never frosted my own cake before.

Decorating I can do, but putting down the frosting canvas 

is not my specialty. As I frosted the cake, it fell apart on me. 

It turned out fine in the end, but it wasn't nearly as pretty 

as the cakes my friend always frosts for me. As I lamented 

her absence, I really wished I had her there to frost my cake.

I gather the cocoa, the sugar, the flour;

I pour in the water and oil.

Mixing, mixing, turning, and whisking--

the batter splatters the counter, the bowl 

and my hair. 

The smooth satin mixture tumbles into the mold,

then I shut the oven door. 

Heat and rising, wait and harmonizing.

The clock dings done, cooling commences, 

the filling and frosting await. 

Assembly begins, the filling goes in, the layers 

form their spire--the cake goes up, to scrape the 

sky as it goes higher and higher. 

As soon as I step back to admire

it buckles and frowns--under the frosting

the facade topples

down. 

I didn't have the perfect hand, 

to frost my cake and it still stand. 

At the baking and assembling I'm well adept,

but I always fail at this important step;

so next time I venture out to bake,

I'll bring a friend to 

frost my cake.