Don't tell the wife

By the kettle in the kitchen

It just sits there and it waits

Watching every movement

From behind a pile of plates

It festers and it moulders

Then as far as I can tell

It seems to be the source

Of that most obnoxious smell

I steel myself for action, and

Then when it isn’t looking

I throw it on the fire and destroy

My good wifes cooking

I tell her it was lovely

As I head toward the door

She says there’s some left over

And that I can have some more

No thanks I say, you know that food

Goes straight onto my hips

As I jumped into the car to get

Some tasty fish and chips

© John W Fenn 19-08-2009