Midday Tea by Jody Porter

A crescent smudge of flour
marks your cheek.

Sweet bright dust of summer’s baking hour
gives a clue of morning loaves,

and makes a promise of midday tea.
The snowdrift kitchen 

billows white with flocks of clouds 
about your feet. I like your hair like this:

tied back in messy bun with curls awry,
neatness gone by batches two and three.

I boil some water, arrange the cups.
You let the workhorse oven heave a sigh.




Jody Porter is Poetry Editor for the Morning Star. He blogs here and tweets here.