She looks askance as tea is made
With meshy bags a-dangling
In giant mug receptacles,
She jokes,
Like kitchen fairies angling.
She tells a tale of yesteryear,
Of times when life was slower.
She talks of silver cutlery,
White tablecloths,
How standards now are lower.
She recollects how manners were
In generations past,
When calling someone by first name,
Unless related,
Would leave them quite aghast.
She reminisces gracious days,
When, for their refreshment,
Guests were offered cups of tea,
And sandwiches,
For ladylike assessment.
She tells how once the butter knife
Was used with much decorum,
Spoons for jam, and jugs for sauce,
Not jars,
Nor bottles, but to store them.
Recalling silver teapots and
Their matching sugar bowls,
Crystal plates of little cakes,
Cream puffs,
Cloths fancy-worked with holes.
She shows her trove of knitted ware,
Tea cosies, out of favour,
Explains their insulating role,
On pots,
Their making, worth the labour.
She misses cultivated style,
The china cup and saucer,
The dainty afternoon repast,
For sadly,
Trends today are coarser.
But,
A smile creeps slowly to her face
She makes a sly confession.
She’s happy with things as they are,
She must admit,
With mischievous expression.
She begs us not to take account
Of all her prior complaining.
These things are not of consequence,
Nowadays.
Just keep what’s worth retaining.
Her rant and rave were full of bluff.
She’ll keep her cups and saucers
Safe ensconced behind their glass,
Intact,
And use mugs, like her daughters.
Make your home a place of peace,
And welcome every guest.
Serve with cheer and loving grace,
She says.
They surely will be blessed.
© Ellen Carr 2014
Postbox Poetry 
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