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

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