|Sonnet for my dodgy kettle
You are our magical hot water contraption,
Without which there would be no joy,
Although embattled by limescale, frail, rotten,
Churning on to answer the teabag’s cry.
Paralysed, squatting amongst dirty plates,
Sad, faint-brown stains besmirch your sides,
Altruistic, bringing relief direct and straight,
More dear to us than all prospective wives.
Of late an issue presents itself with gravity,
Sticking button, makes for steam filled kitchen
Prospects of imminent refreshment, a brevity,
Gasping, battering fog, clasping oven mitten.
Whistling alternatives, they’re inordinately nicer,
But my crappy plastic kettle – you’re a keeper.