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Hurling new Dough
By Christopher J. Bradley
1/27/01 9:10:07 AM

At four o'clock I rushed the kitchen
Every Friday after school
For almost a year.

I cleaned the dishes first
Washing my hands in the soapy lather
While the restaraunt was getting set
For dinner rush.

My other kitchen help
Prepared the dough in a big metal mixer
While we all listened to tunes on discs
Of MC Hammer or the Eagles.

No one ever had to slice mushrooms
We used them from an industrial size can
But we did have to cut onions and peppers.
The dough was rolled neatly into balls
And placed in plastic refrigerator trays
While what we needed was brought out
To the racks above the cutting table.

When the first order would come in
From the restaraunt or the phone
The music would go a little louder
And the hurling would begin.
I was nervous the first time I was asked
To go at it with the dough.
I was a delivery driver never a chef
They always flung it so high in the air
And I thought catching it might be a problem.

The trick the black cook said
Was to throw it like a frisbee
So that the rubbery stuff would stretch out
And float back to you on air.
It took some faith that it would work
A flimsy aerodynamic sail
And it did come back to me
So many times that year.

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