This ain't yo' mama's kitchen,
filled with the smell of cinnamon
and buns
baking in the oven.

I might be out somewhere
staring at the sunset,
or walking down a trail,
remembering days of old.

Or I might be grubbing through
a dusty old box of memory bits
that call up times gone by
with photographs of past lovers.

The kitchen soap is sugary,
happy hour is far away.
That lousy kitchen's calling my name,
and I think it will drive me crazy.

I won't be in Mama's kitchen
baking and stirring and sifting
because my drifting and sifting
will wind up burning the buns! !

Scarlett Treat

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mama-s-kitchen-for-gypsy-gal/