Yields 2 Dozen

The gas oven heats the room
even though I only open the door
in twenty-two minutes intervals.
The bag of buttercream frosting
lies on the table waiting to be used,
but I'm too impatient to wait
until the cupcakes are cool,
so the imperfect swirling dollops
melt into smoother edges
and slide toward the paper cups.
Sunflower oil speckles
my pants, a dash of flour
coats the speakers, and cake
batter leaves worn down mountains
on the counter as I hope for the best,
because one dozen doubled
was not supposed to yield fifty-three
cupcakes.