personification

So I looked at my teaspoon. And my teaspoon looked at me. And I said, “How’s things?” And really. I wish I hadn’t asked.

The Teaspoon’s Lament

I sit here, used, and caked in grime,
And watch, as all the forks and knives
Dive in the sink for wash-up time –
How pampered are their shiny lives!
I hear the kettle boil with dread –
Could it be coffee? Is it tea?
It’s coffee. Yes, in goes my head…
I’m whirled round nauseatingly.

I gulp for air, but no! There’s more!
A teabag’s heading for a cup!
Here comes the dunking I abhor…
In out, in out, down up, down up!
You British! Once, reserved and hushed,
You made your tea with reverence!
And now, these teabags! Crushed and flushed
With bullying malevolence.

A rinse! What glory now awaits?
Oh curses. It’s a boiled egg.
Bang bang, crack crack – this bit I hate-
Oh, don’t mind me! it’s just my head!
But things get worse – as, come desert,
I’m grabbed again. Oh no, please not..
A small boy’s hand, all caked with dirt.
I shovel yoghurt through the snot.

My grandma was a christening spoon!
Respected! Hanging in a frame!
But I’m a puppet! Slave! Buffoon!
I shudder for the family name.
So use me! Hurt me! Boil my brain!
Don’t cry for me! I’m dead inside!
Through all this strife, I shall remain…
Steely, cold and dignified.

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Out with for a walk with the boys yesterday, all three of us took utter delight in spotting icicles. (The boys also took utter delight in snapping them off and using them as weapons, but we’ll edit that bit out.)

So yesterday evening, the funniest thing happened. I came over all airy-fairy. Fear not – I made a full recovery – but not before I penned this little flight of fancy. So get your whimsical wigs on and enjoy.

The Water Droplet

Cut loose from the rigid regime
of a snowflake, I join with a stream,
flowing free – oh! just like those sweet dreams
that I dreamed when I dwelt in a swamp.
Down
I
romp,
with my soulmates bound close to my side,
What a ride! Til we joyfully slide,
with a whoop and a cry from the roof,
and
then…
Ooph.
I collide with an icicle. Please,
no, don’t freeze! I cry out – but I freeze….

I sulk. I await my release.

But then, as I hang, it occurs
to my brooding mind – things could be worse.
I’m with friends. I look good. There’s a view,
I’ve got nothing important to do,
except join in the winter display
as a sideshow to snow. And one day,
when I’m caged in an aquifer’s pore*,
or in polar ice – man, what a bore –
for millennia, possibly more…

I’ll think this was the best day of all –
When I hung from the roof looking cool.

*See – whimsy and A Level Geography can be happy bedfellows…

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