Thank you very much for the Tupperware, dear,
but I can’t help but worry that I haven’t seen you in a year.
You’ve sent me an armoury of aluminium,
and filled my cupboards with copper
but won’t you see that it’s slightly improper?
When you build me a Pisa pile
of porcelain plates
and a Taj Mahal
of casserole dishes,
when you know very well
that I still cook for one –
I can’t help but be suspicious.
You can ladle Teflon love
onto my doorstep,
and thatch my leaky roof
with engraved spoons,
but now a daddy long legs
has moved into your bedside drawer
and you’ve left me with polypropylene
for the afternoons.
So next time that you decide to display your affection,
to show me, twelve months later, that your love is still real
I only ask, dear, that you think twice
before sending me more stainless steel.
For those that are filling the space with pans