The kettle calls, insistently,
incessantly, saying 'Do
you want that cup of tea or don't
you?" It's not a cheerful kettle.
It whistles no happy tune, no bird-like
song to brighten my morning. Only
that one shrill note until I pour
out its eager, boisterous contents.
But I, far too prone to wander
and wool-gather, need a loud
reminder that the water is
a-boil and that time, even breakfast
time, waits for no man. Not even
for distracted poets, seeking
words to finish one last line.
The kettle calls...
Stephen Brooke ©2009