MC ( / Isles of Scilly living in Barbados)

Throw It All Away

The pots, the pans,
the cup, the knife
all sang songs of yesterday
and every time I cooked
I saw
the dreams that fell
(collapsed souffle)
that turned to ash
(my morning toast)
that drowned in tears
(poor lobster boiled
right out of his shell)
and so
I threw them out.
Got hungry
and bought new ones
all bright shiny kitchen stuff
humming tunes of hope
of meals and snacks
to feast upon
with beeps and bells,
bright harmonies
that fill the garlic scented
air with songs of glory
yet to come
now I have faced
the past.

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