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Sport 43: 2015
Le cooking show
Le cooking show
In the morning, my son is sitting in my seat
with an open laptop, editing.
On the bench, all the kitchen equipment we own, widely used,
and on the table, tomato paste, flour, sugar, yeast,
and bits of greenery I cannot identify
without looking at the cooking show he has been filming
and which is, but of course, not yet released.
On the couch, his friend is sleeping with his feet
up in the air, one leg crossed over the other, and his face
positioned as if he fell asleep looking
straight up at the ceiling, possibly speaking,
listening, no doubt. I am pleased
to think of this industry
in our kitchen late at night.
I have my breakfast in silence
so as not to disturb my son, François,
or his friend sleeping, thinking
of the conference, wishing I did not have to.
I brush my new fringe off my face,
hoping for huge coverage of my theory,
if only everyone would receive it dazzled,
not with knives drawn. I am wishing, really, ‘If only
the eyes of everyone at the conference could be
on the other side of the ceiling.’