The Bake-Off

Whoever said men cannot bake

A chocolate-covered birthday cake

Or crusty bread from sourdough

With luscious spreads atop to go?

“Forest Ranger Elmer Kraut

Will want to get his mixer out,”

Says Jerry Jenkins with a grin,

Absolutely sure he’ll win

Any bake-off with this foe,

Who doesn’t even seem to know

That puce and brown and periwinkle

Are not the proper shades to sprinkle

Cakes with the very lofty purpose

To entice us and divert us.

The storefront of Bob Chitlin’s shop

Provides the space to mix and chop.

Both men want very much to win.

The prize: a pint of finest gin.

With aprons on, they take their places

And bake the goods of baking races.

Now Bob, he is the best of judges

And never takes sides or begrudges

The rightful winner of the match

To whom he gives his treasured cache.

This time though, it went too far

When both men emptied Bob’s own bar

When Elmer Kraut had finished making

The cake, now in the oven baking,

He sat down on a rattan chair

And Jerry Jenkins joined him there.

They sipped the last of Chitlin’s wine

Not asking Chitlin, bear in mind.

And when the baking cakes were done,

Did all the neighbors have their fun.

Kraut’s angelfood looks like a spare

Tire gone flat from lack of air.

Jerry Jenkins’ laughs at that

Until he sees his own so flat.

Bob Chitlin laughs sardonically

And grabs the pint ironically.

When neither Bob or Jerry wins,

Then old Bob Chitlin claims the gin.

So that’s the tale of two men baking –

A sad but humorous undertaking.

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