The Passing of the Pot: FamRoots.Org

The Passing of the Pot

A Poem by Eva Davis Penrose

As far back as childhood
And memory may go,
One household vessel greets me,
That wasn’t meant for show.

Beneath the bed ‘twas anchored,
Where only few could see,
But served the entire family
With equal privacy.

Some called the critter “Peggy”
And some the “Thunder mug”
And others called it Badger.
A few called it the jug.

To bring it in at evening
Was bad enough no doubt,
But heaven help the person
Who had to take it out.

Our big one was enormous
And would accommodate
A watermelon party
Composed of six or eight.

When nights were dark and rainy
It was a useful urn
On winter’s icy mornings
The cold rim seemed to burn.

At times when things were rushing
And business extra good.
Each took his turn awaiting,
Or did the best he could.

Sometimes when in a hurry
To our disgust and shame,
We fumbled in the darkness
And slightly lost our aim.

The special one for company
Was decorated well,
But just the same it rendered
That old familiar smell.

Today this modernism
Relieves me a lot,
And only in my vision
I see that homely font.

ID	14244
Linked to	Eva Catherine Davis

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