Stars in Jars (7 page)

again for William Patten School, Stoke Newington

Take the mouse out of the teapot.

Pour in two cupfuls of ice.

Boil the kettle and leave the water to cool.

Find some tea.

This could be elephant and magnet tea,

hundreds and thousands tea,

or – the always popular – bag of nails tea.

Shovel the tea into the pot.

Don't bother pouring out the iced water –

it will mingle nicely with the cool water from the kettle.

Pour the water from the kettle steadily into the teapot.

Leave it for half an hour to settle down and stop giggling.

Find six teacups. Six is always a good number.

Don't worry about the saucers.

Never make the mistake of asking if anyone takes sugar.

If they say ‘Yes' and you've run out,

then you'll have to go out and buy some.

Milk the cat.

I am a noodle eater,

I eat them in the night,

I eat them by the basketful

and give my dad a fright.

I eat them dry,

I eat them wet,

I eat them upside-down.

And best of all I eat them with –

an eyebrow-meeting-frown.

What I like about the smell of food is

chicken roasting in the oven.

What I like about the sound of food is

onions frying in a pan.

What I like about the feel of food is

a shiny apple in my hand.

What I like about the look of food is

strawberries, raspberries and blueberries piled high in my bowl.

What I like about the taste of food is

popping popcorn,

tingly ice cream,

salty chips,

crunchy carrots,

slimy yoghurt,

wobbly jelly,

and long long strands of slippy slurpy spaghetti.

For Winton Primary School, King's Cross

“Can I have a lick?”

“No.”

“Can I have a bite?”

“No.”

“Can I have the end with a bit of ice-cream on it?”

“No.”

“Well can I have a lick then?”

“No!”

for Carol

The pudding of summer

bursts on my tongue

like the glisten of sun on the sea.

The grit of the seeds is the sand

in my toes, and the sand

which sticks to my knee.

The red of the juice

is the blood on my leg

when I fell on a stone on the shore.

In the sharp days of winter

I'll remember the berries,

the running and splashing,

the skimming and swimming,

wanting more and more and more.

It was a dream I had last week.

She phoned to say the paper got it wrong –

‘If you want to look good, you have to

care about yourself, eat brown rice,

steamed vegetables, and dance.'

In fact she adores pavlova and crème brûlée,

she'd die for trifle with real custard,

nothing beats a blackcurrant tart

crusted with caster sugar.

Her absolute favourites are a mousse

so full of chocolate that the spoon stands up,

and a rhubarb crumble gone rock solid the next day.

I'm propagating Thyme –

from now on there will be more Tuesdays,

and a proliferation of Sage

every other Thursday.

Rosemary will bring

a thirteenth month

whenever she visits on Sunday.

Parsley is nurturing

recurring months –

March, April, May.

Between two slices of

the Caspian Sea

I'd like a yellow lilo

Inside a

crunchy cedar bun

I'd like high season

in the sun

Call it a wrap

with a whale

inside and

clouds of

minnows

on the

side

Last

of all I'd like

a roll with a feather

filling for my

soul