Cheap Spatula

I flip the pancake over like 
you’ve flipped my love for you. 
The skillet hot with butter 
and a splash of oil. 
The batter becomes thick, 
flattening on one side
raising before falling. 
The edges becoming crisp, 
a mix of heart and soul 
and all the simple, consistent
consideration in between. 

When I am alone, I can make 
the perfect pancake. 
But when someone is watching, 
I flip the batter too soon. 
The circle is broken, and the batter 
bakes unevenly on the skillet. 
It still doesn’t take away from the taste. 
Sometimes, I still feel like a fool. 

All it takes is the heat of reciprocation
whether the spatula is cheap or 
expensive. 
I eat it anyway, 
just like you’ve flipped my love for you. 
I brought a better spatula. 
I’ll drizzle you in butter and syrup,
and eat until I can’t anymore.