No Crisis Tonight

You make your daughter two pieces of toast,
Since you’re dying and she’s tired. No, really,

This is true. You want to do what you can
Still do for her, in between asking her

To do this or that for you. There’ll be more
Of the latter, soon. Now, you can make toast,

So you do. And while you do, you wonder
Which will go first, any ability

To make toast properly or the power
To pay for the toast. You butter the toast,

Cut the slices, arrange them artfully
And, pleased with yourself, carry them to her.