All night long
I’ve been listening to his racket,
Now Uncle Georgie’s making tea again,
Same craic every night of his week-old visit,
Home alone from lonely London.

First loose slip-ons slapping the lino,
Then the handle rattling on the kitchen door,
The scraping of a rusty lock, hinges slowly creaking open,

Again I hear a switch being flicked,
Sugar crunch, tea leaves shaken,
The kettle spout its whistling hiss,
Teaspoon and cup
Ring out like a bell.