He Isn’t the Brightest

He Isn’t the Brightest

Yet he knows how to cook a roast

He isn’t the brightest of the bunch

can’t spell mayonnaise without a guess

still says liberry, still calls couscous “bird food”

but come Sunday ,

that man’s a god

He’s got gravy down to a science

watches the spuds like they’re his kids

meat’s resting, foil tight as a secret

veg salted just so,

not bad for a lad who failed Home Ec

He’s no poet, not unless you count

the way he plates dinner

he won’t quote Byron or bother with candles

but he’ll butter your parsnips

like it’s love

He can’t fix the Wi-Fi

thinks TikTok is a type of mint

never read a manual, doesn’t care

but when the kitchen heats

he’s cool as butter and sharp as cloves

I’ve seen clever men talk nonsense for years

seen degrees hanging crooked on dull walls

but give this man a joint of beef

and he’ll make silence taste like gold

So no, he’s not the brightest

but I’ve eaten stars off his plate

and if love had a smell

it’d be that roast

he gets just right

every time.