Poetry | Stories | Photography
Pots and pans go flying as Mum chases after Alfie again.
Bloody hell, they’re always getting into it, and now she’s red because he stole some apple pie.
I want to be alone to read, but she continues to chase him, yelling, “I’ll slash yer arse if I catch you!”
Sigh.
Other people have a great beauty to adore or a muse of flesh and blood.
Yet when she sits and writes poetry, such inspiration does not come from the beauty of the flesh.
Instead, she sits with pots and pans, touching, rubbing and feeling them.
The kitchen is her muse.
C & K 