When Will It All Just End?

      
     
     
downstairs      
a pot is boiling      
it's steam      
The kitchen tiles      
cry tears      
down gray porcelain  
draining the      
life out of the morning air      
     
the stairs creak      
Something I've been meaning      
to fix      
though I do see the poetic      
in announcing      
my arrival ahead      
of time      
as water rolls in hot      
burning oxygen      
I add two      
handfuls of pasta      
to the pot      
watching the rolling      
     
the news is on the radio      
-fuel price up      
-taxes up  
-another child lost      
     
look at the boiling pot      
switch the radio off         
just far to much    
hot steam      
in our world