The tea pot

The boy’s first attempt at pouring tea

It was a scarlet enamel tea pot that is all.

Her place was usually in the galley on the side,

Sometimes visible on the table amongst the charts.

She bravely withstood the buffeting of the waves

Playfully threw her lid from view

Had no preference to the brew

Not impressed by picture card or perforated dividend stamp?

Cared not that she was placed on a tray with crisp white cloth

Cared less that her companions were chipped or misplaced

Not converted by the apostle chrome-plated teaspoons

Delighted in the absence of a fine bone china jug.

During a storm she slopped in a bilge,

But soon retained her dignity on the side again

Only to slide and wedge against the riveted hull

Within her belly, nectar to revive a sickly child, sustain our pa

And sooth our nursing mama.

Not shaken by the child’s first attempt to brew

Not worried by her nakedness when washed and prepared for guests

Almost happy to glow for a while

Before the family came for tea around the pot once more.