ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

True story.

Elsie put the kettle on
Leonie Parker © 2011

Mum would pop the kettle on whenever neighbours called
while Auntie Elsie acted like the Queen,
sipping oh so ladylike, with little finger poised,
like someone from an old time movie scene.

Auntie Elsie never boiled a kettle in her life
and no one thought that even one bit strange
til the day I dropped in and my Mum looked horror struck
when Elsie said she’d do it for a change.

Mum was apprehensive. I was sure I knew the cause.
She saw Elsie poaching on her turf.
Sixty years or more they’d lived a life that suited both
with Elsie as the master, she the serf.

Elsie, keen to help, went to the kitchen while I sat
on the porch with Mum in some surprise.
Pretty soon an acrid smell came drifting through the door
bringing stinging tears to both our eyes.

Mum jumped up and rushed into the kitchen with a yell
“What the bloody hell have you done now?”
Auntie Elsie said “I only put the kettle on”
confusion showing on her furrowed brow.

The kettle on the hot plate now was melted to a blob
and dripping plastic globules to the floor.
Its power cord (unplugged) was trailing in the noisome mess
that flowed like molten lava to the door.

Auntie Elsie never got to make the tea again.
Mum put her rather small foot firmly down
which left me kind of wondering about their little game
of serf and master. - Just who wears the crown?

Love it Leonie! Some people should just know there place shouldn't they?

Heather

Very smart lady, Elsie, she has defeated all criticism of her avoidance of menial tasks.

Definitely a method behind Elsie's madness - and seems it worked Also seems that most families have these doolally relatives Good write Leonie - you've been quiet lately???


Cheers

Maureen

Thanks Heather, Elsie (or Mimi as I called her, suited her so much better than Elsie) sure knew her place, right at the top of the food chain. How I loved that woman, she was an original.

You got it Neville, wily old bird she was, but I don't think the melting of the plastic kettle was intentional. She really had never boiled a kettle in her life, or at least not since they went on the wood stove anyway, and the old darling was, like Maureen says, a little bit doolally by then. Although I sometimes wondered, especially when she would do something that would exasperate poor Mum and then give me a little wink when Mum wasn't looking.

Yeah I haven't been able to get into writing much lately Maureen, but when I saw Bernie's homework challenge over at Bush Verse this morning (it's about short sighted Grandad spoiling the stew) it reminded me a little of this incident and I've been saying for years there's a poem in that, so it was sort of now or never. I chose now.

Doolally?