01 July 2011

Make Haste....

make haste with swift
alacrity, on to the
chipped Corelle, the
Johnson Brothers, a single
polished nail in rosy
peach reflecting the light
back, small gold globe,
mass of electrons, ever

super-vitrified Dudson,
Duraline, stacked rounds
straining the shelf to
the breaking point

gripping plate-edge as
water and soap-froth
shears off in sheets down
the abyss of the drain, that
single eye staring back, that
dark mouth through which
small scraps may fall,
accidental offerings to
the kitchen gods who,
turning a blind eye, allow
the rice to scorch as
the custard turns to
scrambled eggs....

super-vitrified, twice-
fired, unlike the Limoges
A Lanternier, France, with
faded flowers: rose, carnation,
scalloped gold,
Arklow FINE BONE CHINA (in capital
letters, if you please)
or pale-pink Colelough,
gold-scrolled, made in
England, or the Paragon
with the hollyhocks....

sealing away the odd ends
of vegetables and
beef overtopped with potato,
plastic, then foil, destined
for a late lunch, standing
up, mid-kitchen, ear cocked for
the ring of the telephone

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