A Job For Life Poem by sylvia spencer

A Job For Life

Rating: 5.0

I get such a good feeling when the fire goes out
because there's no more smoke going up my spout.
Its no wonder I am an sick and tired of my job
because all day long I am boiling on this hob.
On special days I get polished with blacking
but that's only to stop my body from cracking.
When the old man comes home and its time
for tea, that is when I start to feel free.
I am free from water that has been bubbling in
my guts giving me much pain and driving me nuts.
The freedom never lasts for more than an hour
because on goes the tap and another shower.
Filled to the brim then back to the hob just doing
the same old job, boilng over again and again why
cant they see it is causing me pain.
They have gone to bed and the fire is out, then down
comes the soot and chokes my spout.
Soot and water what a combination, but when morning
comes they won't have any inclination; because I am
boiled again just as the day before to make tea for the
master who drinks cups of it by the score.
I know I have a job for life and that could be a good thing
perhaps that's the reason why most kettle's sing.

Scarlett Treat 29 August 2006

If I can borrow a line from Mr. Shakespere: Double. double, toil and trouble. Kettle burn and kettle bubble. What a joyous outlook on life that you have, My dearest Rosie, to laugh at the life of a little black tea kettle, and even imagine the pain it its gut from the boiling water! You are totally unique, and I love you! Scarlett

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Sandra Fowler 29 August 2006

What wonderful originality! Your tale of a tea kettle is completely charming. I love it, Sylvia. Your sister across the sea, Sandra

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Duncan Wyllie 29 August 2006

Put the kettle on and your feet up and have a slow cup, remember to do this for yourself as well as the others Sis Love duncan X

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Ernestine Northover 29 August 2006

And I do so love 'Whistling' kettles. A delightful read and a splendid story so brilliantly written. Real good stuff. Super! Love Ernestine XXX

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Nalini Hebbar 29 August 2006

the story of a sad kettle that sings! ! ! ...i wish it could read and also hear and may be talk too...it would have enjoyed your stories and poems...the two of you would have had lots to tell each other...lovely piece as usual...seeing poems in unusual places! ! ! ...love...nalini

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Jym R.. Covalt 17 January 2007

Are you looking in my window? My kettle sings this same song! But I would be lost if I was unable to fill and empty it semi-hourly. It's such an unappreciated necessity but in my lyfe s-o-o-o loved. Thanx, JYM

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Chuck Audette 05 September 2006

I love the closing line! Life is pretty good for that poor old, blackened teapot after all.. Wonderful. -chuck

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joey oo 04 September 2006

sadly, this is what a lot of life is about - the drudgery of routine - great write. Nice to see you again. Joey

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Nick Percowycz 30 August 2006

The ending of your poem is superb! This is a going to be a classic! ! Excellent, Sylvia.10.

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Patrick Ladbrooke 30 August 2006

Is that why the pot calls the kettle black? Excellent view of a utensils occupation, but I also glimpsed an analogy in there, intended or not. Great poem, reads even better second time. Patrickxx

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