Side by side they sit

Atop the coal stove

Their shared life’s work

An anxious labour of love 

That feeds their own addiction 

To serve 

Be seen and needed

At the cost 

Of being smoked, 

Burnt and charred

All making it impossible to see 

What they detest in each other 

Could actually be

Instead, Pot sneers: 

You’re looking rather scruffy, 

Mrs K

Well, blacker than you should, anyway 

You don’t look good at all

In fact, you’ve lost your shine

Are you sure that everything is fine? 

Perhaps you’re taking too much heat of late? 

Or is it something that you ate? 

Who me?! 

Hoots the kettle back

How dare you call me black! 

I sit here boiling everyday 

I toil and whistle and still you say 

I’m scruffy? Dark? Not looking good?! 

I really should

Protest! 

But 

I confess 

Now that I’m facing 

You

You’re looking 

Pretty shabby 

Too

Perhaps I should give you 

A steam 

Lean you over 

And see how you clean up…

Some friendly care

May be just what you need

Indeed

Let’s wipe your lid 

And rub your side 

And spruce you up 

So nothing can hide 

Your sparkle, Pot 

Mmm

Guess what! 

Already looking better… 

Now that’s not bad

In fact, it’s rad - 

you almost look

Hot! 

But wait! 

Here’s a blackish spot 

What could it be? 

This stain 

In your reflection

Let’s rub and see

O-M-G

It’s me!