The party was at nine and we needed cupcakes to eat,

For baking challenged me no easy feat,

So I turned to my computer, a recipe to find,

My home page feeding bites of a war defined,

But I don’t want war, I want cupcakes and so,

I turn to facebook to friends who will surely know,

How to make cupcakes, but no they are too busy,

Posting war stories to make my head turn dizzy,

Google won’t fail me, safe haven full of search engine bits,

But then again I don’t want to consider a search in terms of hits,

At last I find the recipe and then it’s off to the shops,

For these cupcakes, I assure you I will pull out no stops,

And I look to the sky to check for the infinite possibilities,

When I notice a trail of white offending my sensibilities,

It can’t be, it’s not, I have cupcakes to make,

You’ve got to be kidding for cupcakes sake,

But there is no mistaking, it’s a rocket above,

And it’s definitely not declaring safety or love,

I carry on driving to the supermarket over the hill,

Hoping I don’t end up like Jack and Jill,

The rocket is diving and winking at me,

But doesn’t it realize, doesn’t it see,

I need to make cupcakes and I don’t want to talk,

To this missile, projectile, at any contact I baulk,

And in the horizon it turns sharply and disappears,

Perhaps realizing somebody else’s worst fears,

The ingredients are bought and back home once more,

I wait for my daughter for the baking fun in store,

She arrives and curls up ignoring cupcake chatter,

Iphone, and tweeting, but something’s the matter,

A tear on her face, no cupcakes she is not in the mood,

Virtual communication abandoned, three words have accrued,

Mummy, I’m scared.

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