Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Frankenstein's Gas Fire

It lives
but only so long as I kneel supplicant before it,
pressing in the dial
feeling the weak heat from its spluttering flame.

It chimes,
like someone playing spoons on organ pipes,
it clicks and rings and breathes,
like an old man with pneumonia

Until eventually, it can be taken off life support,
and I can get on with my evening,
very slightly warmer.