Love Poem from
the Pot to the Kettle

I thought, when we met, you were merely a spout,
but over the years I have come to adore
your bright yellow plastic, your steam and your store
of lime-scale, your off switch, the simmering doubt
that you’ll make it to boiling again, your devout
adoration of whistles, your gasp at the height
of a note once strong, but what lends most delight
is the scalding cascade I am empty without.

Rob A. Mackenzie

If you have any comments on this poem, Rob A. Mackenzie would be pleased to hear from you.