Welcome to the twentieth day of our 30/30!
Your prompt today is:
When the teakettle sings
Guidelines, if you want them:
- Posting your response is not required
- Feel free to post your response 🙂
- This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
- While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
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Just Maybe l
We went through teakettles
like chickens through leftovers,
burned most of them into
a lacy mesh of fine holes when
they inevitably went dry,
experimented with the shiny steel
ones with the painted wooden
handles, the double enameled ones
with their painted flowers.
We made endless tea, thin Postum,
dishwater, and killed hapless bugs
with its scalding stream. Never had
a whistling one since it cost more
and made noise, both unacceptable.
I never really knew where the old
ones went, perhaps out to the
Thursday trash. Remnants a handy
hovel for a packrat to stuff the spout
with treasures and hear, just maybe
If the wind was right, a bright whistle.
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It all begins with odd rattlings
followed by moans reminiscent of the demons in Ghost.
Depending on the level of water,
belchings and jumping may dominate
with no singing, just complaints.
On a good day, water will work itself
up to a full, rounded whistle,
akin to the smoke detector in alarming me.
Like me, my older teakettle has lost its subtler tones,
screeched its way to that high-pitched whine
that barely passes as song,
the range of sound that old ears have foregone.
A new kettle might bring pleasanter notes,
but my old friend still offers me a great cup of tea.