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By John I. Blair

Carefully I wrap four fingers
Around the fat, scratched handle
On the blue teakettle I bought cheap
At a yard sale down the street.

Centering the kettle on the coil
I track the knob to seven
As too much heat, I find,
Will boil it over.

When steam frills up
I splash the water on my tea
And set the kettle cooling
On the stove back;

To keep the handle upright
And its oak from blackening
Iíve braced a metal clip
Behind the strap bracket.

But nothing I attempt
Will delete the tacky glaze
Years of spills have settled
On the cracked enamel.

©2005 John I. Blair  

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