Can’t even Toast

Mom says, “Honey, dinner’s done!”

I take one look and then I run.

Broccoli? Yeah, that’s a no.

If it’s green, it’s gotta go.

Tried to make some mac and cheese,

Burned the pot in thirty-three.

Smoke alarm’s my biggest fan,

Guess that’s just who I am.

I want pizza every night,

Chicken nuggets feel just right.

If it’s fancy, count me out,

That’s what picky’s all about.

I can’t cook, I can’t bake,

Even toast is a fifty-fifty take.

Microwave’s my best friend,

Hope this ramen never ends.

Don’t like onions, don’t like peas,

Hold the pickles, extra cheese.

Call me picky if you must,

Ketchup’s basically gourmet to us.

Recipe says “medium heat,”

Now the kitchen smells like defeat.

Cookies came out hard as rocks,

Guess I’ll stick to cereal boxes.

Dad says, “Try one little bite.”

I say, “Maybe… not tonight.”

I’ll survive on fries somehow,

Don’t ask any questions now.

Maybe someday I’ll learn to fry,

Maybe pancakes won’t all die.

Till that day I’ll proudly say,

Takeout’s only one call away.

I can’t cook, I won’t pretend,

Burning dinner’s my superpower, friend.

If it’s crunchy, if it’s weird,

Yeah, it’s probably what I feared.

Keep your sushi, keep your stew,

I’ll take grilled cheese through and through.

One day I’ll grow up, maybe… look—

But tonight… don’t let me cook!

Smoke alarm’s singing harmony,

Kitchen’s now a tragedy.

Order fries and save the day—

That’s the only recipe!