Sunday, 5 February 2012

A small mixer grinder.
A sunshine yellow  yolk
turns into a dull beige
with the whizz of an angry button.

A huge oven where things  bake for days
till they burn.

Oh then there's the ceiling with the dripping sooty-oil
and the silent red cylinder full of combustible stuff .

Occasionally the 30-second protest of the pressure cooker
under pressure. or the suffering simmer of some curry.

The clean gas, the clean slabs, the clean chopping board and the glistening knife
and the dustbin-
the dustbin, which makes the cleanliness possible.

and speaking of cleanliness
The rags. The tired rags
 in tatters, letting in the odd circles of light.

Unused glasses, with a film of grime,
perched on a slab covered with old yellow newspapers.

So there. That's a kitchen.
Of course, that's a kitchen.

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