Calling the Kettle by Dennis O'Driscoll
No matter what news breaks,
it's impossible to think straight
until the kettle has boiled.
The kettle with its metal back
strong enough to take the strain,
shoulders broad enough to cry on;
plump as the old grandmother
in her woollen layers of skirts
who is beyond surprise or shock,
who knows the value of allowing
tears to flow, of letting off steam,
of wetting the tea and,
her hand patting your cheek,
insisting - as she prevails on you to sit and drink
- that things could have been much worse.
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