When the Queen comes to tea.

I sit and watch you bleed

over half peeled potatoes,

the peeler full of skin

and the blood, orange against

the beige potato wetness.


You salt boiling water

and sweat into it,

using the tea-towel to dry yourself.

I hear your fingernail scrape at old specks

of food as you wash up,

the suds dissipate

and yellowed water slurps

down the plug hole.


I see you wipe the crumbed surface:

morsels off the counter to be

trodden into the sticky floor.

You plate up;      



                       Peppercorn sauce



              Butter + Mint








You wipe the edge of the plate,

spillage replaced with perspiration

and serve to a nonchalant Queen.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s