The Heater

In the winter when the southerly winds blow from Antarctica, through Tasmania, and makes their presence known to the people of Melbourne, we turn the heating on. We don’t ask much of you. We just ask that you do your job and heat the house for us.  Is this too much to ask?

Winter went on for months without end. You worked for us well, until you thought spring was coming early.  Now you’re resetting all the time, turning yourself off, keeping your status at the rather puzzling setting, “On Waiting”, and telling us you are going to be uncooperative.

You remind me of my good friend’s partner.  She was always telling him to get turned on, but he was always turned off.  She would cry to him, “Why do I always have to turn you on!?…why don’t you ever turn me on anymore!?”

Turns out, he wasn’t really into her. They end up going their separate ways. Now he is a distant memory.

Heater, please don’t make me replace you because you won’t turn on for me, even though I’m trying to turn you on.

Published by

clarissawoodwrites

I spin words from a different space • music, the sea, and nature makes my words spin • ex-lawyer • I love turning ideas on their head •

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s