When the kettle calls
I have more than one choice
to make
I can let it wail
a while
and ensure that all the bacteria
is destroyed
in the water
so I can sip a tea in peace
or I can let it keep singing
in higher pitches til
the dogs begin to notice
that something’s wrong
and yap their warning barks to
join the alarm in chorus
Or I can sit longer still
and wait
while the whistle crackles
and whines
and the water disappears
and the kettle
burns black and cracks its paint
so it’s no good anymore
and melts down to
a noxious metal blob
atop the stove
and sets off all the smoke alarms
after the whistling stops
so that its kettle call is
sent on from one panicking
cry to another
until the batteries die
and I hear still another siren
from a big red truck
because the whole house is burning down
and then I may begin to allow
my own screams
as flames lick the soles of my
tired feet
But I will almost always err
toward my first instinct
to jump up from my chair
and stare at the steam
a second or two longer
to listen to the water hiss
