Thursday 17 July 2003
They watched in excitement as night drew near
when he went to the fridge to get his cold beer;
they knew he spent most of the day teaching
those whose retention was not so far reaching…
they’d heard him now and then rent his frustration
on those who lacked nearly any concentration,
or whose simple mathematics was so very poor
they thought ten minus nine could perhaps equal four,
those who suffered from geographical amnesia,
confused between India and Indonesia,
those who thought they were doing their best,
but unsure if the sun rose in the east or the west,
not sure if to use it’s, or its, both or either,
ought to, and must, past or present, or neither.
But when night time came and all went silent,
and the kitchen people were not reliant
on the human beings for their operation;
that was a time of much elation…
Happy Jack
One happy Jack was the telephone,
who was content at this time to be left alone;
from the crack of dawn to late at night,
he‘d engaged with people in a non-stop fight,
awoken from a rare, brief afternoon slumber
by some idiot who had punched in the wrong number;
the woman was the worst, she used him all the day,
incoming and outgoing were exchanged his way
they fingering the numbers they required,
so by the early evening he was tired;
this was when the angry man would interject
and pull out the wiring to disconnect
them both from the world of noise and chattering,
the banging, ringing, end-of-call clattering.
Freezer Wheezer
The old man freezer now could get back his chill
for the daytime heat soon made him ill;
the door was opened to take out chicken, fish, or prawn,
their farewells making him feel alone and forlorn;.
his job was to keep the meat and fish frozen
until some future time, when a piece would be chosen
to be defrosted in the early morning heat,
then cooked by the old woman for the family to eat.
He watched as the chicken leg, wing and breast
were, with a heavy cleaver, split from the rest;
the fish slit and cleaned, the scales scraped away,
put in plastic bags, then stored on the tray.
When they were taken, he found himself yearning
for the company of those who would not be returning,
waiting for market reinforcements to appear,
knowing soon that he would once again shed a tear…
He found the work increasingly tiring,
with rotting door seals, old fashioned wiring;
his body bore the scars of a woman’s neglecting
to care,
In the key of G,
in four / four time,
the gentle rhyme,
the kitchen choral symphony
Oh, oh, here we go,
Oh, oh, here we go,
the machine people of house 43,
we love our robot melody, oh, oh, oh oh
the kitchen choral symphony, oh, oh, here we go
here we go, keep in time, oh, oh oh,oh
Washing machine
The washing machine relaxed in ease,
it would be ten hours till she would mingle with Breeze,
she spent the mornings with soap and water sloshing,
the hard work of doing the daily washing;
the socks, the towels and schoolboy shirts,
the bed sheets, the pillowcase, the young girl’s skirts.
at times, she was in full swing by 7 30,
cleaning the garments that were not that dirty.
When the old woman would come to work late
she’d have to endure a three hour soaking wait;
if it wasn’t enough working in the afternoon light,
there were the odd occasions she would have soak all the night…
The refrigerator
The fridge would smile when he opened her wide,
reaching in and taking his cans from inside;
these were stored on the topmost shelf,
making it easy for him to help himself…
she looked after the drinks the children had made,
cocoa with ice blocks, chilled lemonade;
a plate of cold meat, or half-consumed fish,
orange, lettuce, apple, duck sauce in a dish,
tablets, a box of low cholesterol egg,
children’s sweets, a chicken piece with no leg,
a jar of fresh limejuice, sour and mean,
with sauce for the pizza, milk, margarine.
There was one thing they were all of one mind
and that was they knew him to be very kind
for of all the people that were living there,
he was the one who really took most care,
spending time cleaning them, scrubbing, wiping
their sides, their tops, sometimes the piping;
in the early evening, he often did the cooking,
unaware that they were looking…
when the family had eaten, he frequently
collected and washed up the crockery,
placing them carefully on the draining board where
they were left to dry naturally in the warm evening air.
After washing and rinsing the dinner’s cutlery,
he put them in the mug where they could then see
the drama that would unfold before their eyes.
they knew he wasn’t able to hear their sighs
as he paced up and down, to the left and right,
through the early hours of every night;
they watched him, glass in hand, pouring in
the golden contents of the ice cold tin
crockery rack
The crockery rack was rather proud of the fact
that she managed to keep her charges intact
but she would reserve a special hug
for the Australian ex-honey pot turned beer mug;
with plate, glass on shelf number two,
arranged neatly after eating was through;
peanut butter, a box of Kellogg’s crisp All Bran,
marmalade, mushroom, pineapple, peas in a can,
tea bags, coffee, bottle of chilli, tomato sauce,
rough salt, ground pepper, oregano, marjoram, of course;
garlic cloves, onions, on shelf number three some tins, spaghetti,
and rice and wheat noodles running free
bowls for soaking vegetables on shelf number four,
awkward to get, parked near the floor…
Rice Cooker
The rice cooker was busy from mid-morning,
the switch on her side giving anyone warning
that the steaming temperature was steady,
that the hard beras-to-soft nasi was now ready.
In the evening, she would be used to reheat
the leftover lunchtime vegetables and meat,
for he’d always make sure there was food on the table
when the boss woman came home, so to enable
her to relax and eat a quiet dinner on her own,
after a hard day in work, using car, coffee shop, phone.
The Oven
The oven reflected, with much sorrow
that she was used only to keep the food for tomorrow,
except for the rare times when he would grill a lamb chop
or some Norwegian salmon from the grocery shop,
enjoying watching the pizza they were making,
feeling content when it was inside her, baking;
her thermostat at two hundred and fifty degrees,
heating tomatoes, mushrooms, melting the cheese…
But the three were good to her, she thought on reflection,
thinking of the years of poor wiring connection,
of the day when she gave them a mental hug,
when the man and the children repaired her plug.
The Sink
The sink who suffered much domestic abuse
from morning to night in almost constant use;
here, no multicultural charity
to protect her from such non-stop brutality;
naturally thrilled one Friday afternoon,
so happy she was over the moon,
scrubbed, bathed, then massaged with soap and water
by a sponge and steel pad, by the man and his daughter,
the taps, rear tiles, the filter tube too
gleaming in the light as if they were brand new,
the pink tiles shone in the afternoon sun;
it had been many months since they’d had so much fun…
Gas cooker
The gas cooker sighed, as piece by piece,
the burners came off, and the two attacked the grease
that lay around thick after months of neglect;
the solidification would not protect
them from the onslaught; there was no hope
of survival against steel wool and soap;
the man peeled away the hard grease with a knife;
the cooker thought it the best bath in his life.
Coxswain Clock
High on the kitchen wall, Coxswain Clock
passed his time looking down, taking stock
of all that happened in the day and night,
the seconds and minutes marching tight,
from the cool of night to a hot high noon,
he would marshal the troops of his small platoon;
the languid daytime hours would creep
towards the time when the house would sleep…
he would tell them when it was time to talk,
when they could watch the night insects play and walk;.
he’d hear the alarm in the other room,
bleeping in the dawn’s moist gloom,
and issue orders to the kitchen crew
that morning was near and night nearly through.
He heard them in collective sigh,
whispering as the time for a new day’s work drew nigh
in the key of G, soprano, alto, tenor and bass,
before they went back to their place,
the kitchen choral symphony
KTW
The kettle, the teapot, and fresh water jug
were waiting for morning to get their warm hug,
watching as he sank with raging rapidity
three large mugs of water or hot herbal tea,
before putting the kettle on the gas ring to heat
the water,laying the table for his children to eat,
then he’d disappear to the bathroom where
he brushed his teeth and shaved his hair,
come clean and fresh to the kitchen to meet
the children, in affection watching them drink and eat.
The radio lay on the washing machine
for at this height, her wavelengths were more easily seen.
He tuned into the news bulletins from the BBC,
half surprised to find there was no world war three,
other stations from all over the place,
showing the squalid morass of the human race.
many broadcasts were often unclear,
the hissing and fading would interfere
with the reception, that lacking clarity,
would result in quite enormous disparity
nd there were times when he would play
cassettes from his father half a world away.
Concerto concerts or orchestral suite,
using hands or fingers to tap the beat,
and the thoughts would then retreat,
in the evening’s fan blown heat,
and in his mind the band would play
and try to wash the thoughts away,
In the key of G,
in four / four time,
the gentle rhyme,
the kitchen choral symphony
Oh, oh, here we go,
oh, oh, here we go,
the machine people of house 43,
we love our robot melody, oh, oh, oh oh
the kitchen choral symphony, oh, oh, here we go
here we go, keep in time, oh, oh oh,oh
