The Nettle And Brittle Kettle
A Poem by jay
Whose Kettle is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite angry though.
She was cross like a dark potato.
I watch her pace. I cry hello.
She gives her Kettle a shake,
And screams I’ve made a bad mistake.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The Kettle is Nettle, Brittle and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Tormented with nightmares she never sleeps.
Revenge is a promise a girl should keep.
She rises from her cursed bed,
With thoughts of violence in her head,
A flash of rage and she sees red.
Without a pause I turned and fled.
With thanks to the poet, Robert Frost, for the underlying structure.