Poor little Pat has to tap on the tiles of the kitchen floor.
Tip on your toes to avoid the piles not spoken of anymore.
In the tap is the water rather fleeing.
Knowing is temporary
going right out the other ear.
The procedure passed on from heir to heir.
Always has the mother been the one to prepare.
Because you have to eat and grow and breathe.
In brief, those are the only human values.
No.
Tapping the tiles is an obsession.
It is compulsory.
The pulse is ticking from

8 to 7

The temperature is levelling.
Rising with the rice.
The escaping vapour lifts the veil,
reveals what is hidden on transparency.
Frenetic rubbing follows
and the scream of glass.
Silence it with a cloth
because sanitary equals sanity.
No.

5

You should not drink and derive
the whole issue not spoken of anymore.
Place the plates while the enemy is at the gates.

4

The order is uncoiling.
Boil, just boil!
The boy is still playing.

3

Fork and knife,
one for each.

2

A small leak
but still
the staggering pressure.

1

Pressure!

0

Come here my son!
Here we live and dine together.