There is a miniature wooden kitchen
standing in the window
next to our full sized kitchen.
It has a soft basket on it stuffed
with a tiny fluffy pineapple,
pink sausages with hot dog buns,
a slice of cheese with a few holes in,
a green pepper, and a yellow fish.
There is a door with a grey handle
and a circle made with white paint behind it
to make it look like a microwave.
Every inch of the unit is covered
in fingerprints made out of recipes
they haven’t eaten yet from towns
they don’t know how to pronounce yet.
The rings of the hob shine like 5am eyeballs.

© Carl Burkitt 2021