I visited the folks, hoping for dinner;
I smelled the smoke as I walked in there.
Out she came, eyebrows missing;
hair all singed and her skin was peeling.
Now this was before self lighting ovens;
as she opened the oven to check the grub,
no flame could be seen but the gas was on.
The gas went pop, when the match was struck.
I laughed out loud and the room went quiet;
if looks could kill, then I would be dead
She shouted and told me it wasn’t right
to laugh and that I wasn’t right in the head.
She smoked as she cooked, but not after that;
her kitchen rules changed, that’s a fact.
Hair in a turban and apron in place;
and her Deidre glasses to protect her face