IT'S ALL THERE.

A MAID IN 1915 WAITING TO SERVE BREAKFAST.

It’s all there: teapot,
Teacup, sugar bowl,
Milk jug, spoon, toast
Not too well done, jam,
Butter and knife. All on
The tray. How she likes it.
Neat and each thing in its

Right place. She’ll ring the
Bell soon. All ready today.
Just right. She’ll be sitting
Upright in the bed, the hair
In a mess, no makeup on,
The face on her that’d scare
Spiders, the hands on the

Counterpane, both palms
Up, watching as you bring
In the breakfast, eyes searching
For the first sign of nerves
Or a shaking of the tray. Has
The postman been yet? Is
The fire lit? Has Finnegan

Sorted out the work for the
Day? She’ll watch you as
You lay the tray down on
The bed; wait until its all
Settled down. She’ll look
The tray over to make sure
It’s right. She’ll open the

Teapot lid and look in. Stir
With the spoon. Sniff the
Fumes. She always does.
Nothing much changes.
There goes the bell. She’s
Rung. Ready to go. Up the
Stairs one step at a time.

Tray held steady, eyes
Down focussed. Wait by
The door. Breathe in.
Listen. She’s waiting.
She’ll have heard you
On the stairs no doubt.

Knock the door with
The foot as the hands
Are holding the tray.
Cough. Hers. Come in.
You go in and she's there
In the bed sitting up with
The face on that scares

Spiders and the eyes on
You as you bring the tray
With all in order, all things
There as they should be,
Unchanging for another day.