I said I’d make a cup of tea at 5
Now I’ve lost the kettle,it’s alive
It must have little feet which I can’t see
When I come here the kettle seems to flee
I feel like ginger biscuits , angel cakes
Alas my mother wanted me to bake
We mad shortbread, almond drops so sweet
They made the men go mad and that’s a feat
Eat roast beef on Sunday with these sprouts
Add potatoes then be hit by doubt
Scruples make me ill and I shall die
Wondering if I really killed that fly
We’ll end the world by global trade and flights
Use the petrol well, it may ignite
Why not stay at home and write a poem
Sitting in the garden while bats roam
After reading sonnets I have vowed
To read a special poem a day outloud
Sylvia Plath made her late poems for this
Writing well, her agony, her bliss
So we reach the end of life on earth
Those who find the ruins won’t feel much mirth
We died because expansion can’t go on
The balloon explodes, the clever science, the don
