FIRE STARTING.
Posted: January 21st, 2011, 4:59 am
Polly hates cleaning out the fire grates
And relighting the fires. Seven of
Them to do before breakfast and other
Jobs. She sits back on her haunches and wipes
Her sweaty brow with the back of her hand.
She watches the flickering flames lick slow
Amongst the firewood and pieces of
Coal. She places her blackened hands in front
Of the fire to warm her cold fingers.
She wonders if Master George will arrive
Today. Last time he came home for a week
Or so from the Front he had her in his
Bed most of the nights shafting her for all
Glory. She smiles. Poor Susie didn’t like
That. Sleeping alone getting cold while she
Polly was being warmed. She stops smiling.
Each morning she dreads hearing news of his
Death at the Front. The War has claimed many
Men each day, column after column in
The newspapers. She pokes the fire to
Stir the flames faster. If you get yourself
With a bloody child, you’ll be out on your
Ear, Susie had said to her each morning
She had crept back to their bed after the night
Of shafting and sleeping in the Master’s
Warm double bed. So far, she’s been lucky,
She muses, standing up from the burning
Fire, looking at the licking flames and
Picking up the dustpan and brush. The house
Hold was still asleep, no one was stirring,
Just a few birds to break the morning hush.
And relighting the fires. Seven of
Them to do before breakfast and other
Jobs. She sits back on her haunches and wipes
Her sweaty brow with the back of her hand.
She watches the flickering flames lick slow
Amongst the firewood and pieces of
Coal. She places her blackened hands in front
Of the fire to warm her cold fingers.
She wonders if Master George will arrive
Today. Last time he came home for a week
Or so from the Front he had her in his
Bed most of the nights shafting her for all
Glory. She smiles. Poor Susie didn’t like
That. Sleeping alone getting cold while she
Polly was being warmed. She stops smiling.
Each morning she dreads hearing news of his
Death at the Front. The War has claimed many
Men each day, column after column in
The newspapers. She pokes the fire to
Stir the flames faster. If you get yourself
With a bloody child, you’ll be out on your
Ear, Susie had said to her each morning
She had crept back to their bed after the night
Of shafting and sleeping in the Master’s
Warm double bed. So far, she’s been lucky,
She muses, standing up from the burning
Fire, looking at the licking flames and
Picking up the dustpan and brush. The house
Hold was still asleep, no one was stirring,
Just a few birds to break the morning hush.
