Baked to perfection

Limp,wrinkled,clean.
The temperature:90 degrees.
"Perfect," I said, wiping my brow.
I smell them one last time,
before baking.

Shaping tents,
I almost convince myself
to join the childhood adventure
and pretend the morning away;
but no,
housework calls.

Returning 6 hours later,
I touched them.
I peeled them off the line,folding
with a "snap!"
This is where I will dream,
under sun-baked tents:
stiff, smooth, clean.