Waiting for the kettle to boil


Or ‘A Poem For Whilst The Kettle Is Boiling’

I switch the switch
(The kettle is ‘full’)
The electricity is then engaged
In a task
Of less than Herculean proportion
I proceed with caution
These are strange times
For less popular rhymes
And there is a drink to be made
Before my words do fade
Between us only time and space
And only space and time is between us
Watching paint dry
Waiting for the kettle to boil
I stand here
Giving silent words of encouragement
Until my virtual voice is spent
And I just observe the transaction
Taking place
There is, as yet, no steam
Clouding above my head
No shine to my face
That the task is nearing completion
I ask the Heavens for intervention
Did I mention
That I am waiting
Will it do so
Before I shuffle off this mortal coil?
If it never does
Will it be too late?
Will I get irate?
Shall I meet my fate?
Is the kettle not my mate?
Waiting for the kettle to boil.
Within this time I could have invented a painless procedure for the fitting of a uterine coil
Is the kettle my nemesis?
My foil?
And here I ask myself
What is a uterine coil?

The kettle still toiled.

Will my life be spoiled
If my drink remains unmade
Will I fade like my words?
Win no awards?
Or will the kettle’s whistle
Bring me salvation?
A cup of elation?
A cease to vexation?
Oh, well
Onwords and upwords
Hark what is that noise?
I hear the kettle calling

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