The basement dweller

It’s 430 and it’s my time.
I was at a job all day.
I’m going downstairs.
I leave the front door open wide,
I can’t feel the sun downstairs.
My boyfriend drives me home,
he’ll be staying for supper.
I’m making my saucy sauce.
My boyfriends here,
he fixes things.
I hate smells she said.
My stoves broken she said.
I love to cook she said.
I start my lazy blender.
Pulsing 3,4,5 I don’t know when’s enough.
My blender is more irritating then me.
I don’t chop food.
I blend It.
Yep this sauce is saucy.
No need to wash the knives tonight.
I’ll make it sound like I’m busy blending,
Stirring.
I know you can smell that.

The Smell of tomato sauce is intoxicating.
It’s irritating.
It climbs up through the vent.
The beef is added.
Boiled until bubbling.
Heats on high.
A wall of garlic smothers me,
I cannot escape.
Every time she does this,
it’s irritating.
Garlic and onions feed the ego.
She must know this though.
One time she asked us if she can go for a run and leave the door open , she didn’t know where to put the keys. At least she asked though.

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