Old Black Kettle of Mine
I remember you when
You were new black brushed cast iron.
I filled you with water
and placed you on the top of
the hot wood stove.
You soon sent clouds of steam
toward the ceiling and clouded
the windows with your hot sweet breath.
You sang with joy
to make my cold day
cozy and comfortable.
As I washed the dishes in the other room
you sounded the all was well notice
with a dancing and popping boiling over rhythm.
The years passed and we aged together.
your brushed jet black
mellowed to a whitened sheen.
Then a coat of Calcium deposit
a remaindered of years of
boil over of hard –water.
Rust collected within you
and your breath came out in smelly
gurgles that ate away your spout.
Your lid froze from calcium deposit
and rust flowed down your sides
and your function really ended.
And then you became
my mirror and metaphor as
I too rust and crust with white calcium.