A Broken Kettle

A poem about perspective

So the kettle broke the other month. Just shut down there in place. No explanation or prior warning, Just a silence left it in it’s space.

But we’re Humans, we are. Blood we don’t have. Just hot drinks infused in our veins. We learn to adapt, to evolve, to move on. We even attempt the full use of our brains.

So we look elsewhere, we try to make due. We use what we already own. Out come the pots and the pans, on the hob. The smell of coffee soon back in our home.

And then just like that, we decided to grow. To proactively make a firm stand. No more would we settle for anything less. Than a kettle that works just as planned.

Maybe it’s not much, not in the context of things. A kettle amidst the apocalypse we’re in. But when this planet tries to fall to an end. We each find new ways to begin.

So this kettle right here, pastel yellow and curved. It means more than just a hot tea. It’s a symbol of hope, homely and warm. A reminder of what it’s like to be free