unrest in the kitchen had

been brewing for some time

a pongy cloth waiting to wipe 

the smile off surfaces 

and behind closed doors 

not a fluid ounce of cupboard love.

 

a storm in a teacup 

saw the kettle let off steam

as a mug flew off the handle. 

the bin, as usual, talked rubbish

mixing it with the blender -

the one with the short fuse.

 

a knife's sharp tongue wagged

about a fork poking its nose in

blaming spoons for stirring it

as a few pots got heavy

and gave the oven a basting.

 

we have a ward full of hot 

and bothered kitchen casualties

a toaster burned out, fridge that

can't chill, dishwasher overloaded,

washing machine that's had its fill

and a sink feeling completely drained.

 

now it's spread to the living room,

the tele and the phone don't speak

and no-one can shut the radio up.

it talks behind everyone's back,

makes up rumours about 

bananas in the bowl getting fruity.