Old Black Pot of Mine


 Old Black Kettle of Mine


Old friend

         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.


Douglas Minnis

February 2013










I liked that old kettle. It was with me for a long time