Curly tongues rising off a lake at dawn, fingers  held to lips in silent statue.  A kettle rattling to the boil, wafers of it rising up to merge with the range hood. Pots on the boil, droplets condensing on the see through lid, a furrow of steam shooting straight out though a small hole. An old locomotive  waiting at the station hissing and  wheezing, then grunting as the wheels start to slip slide and the whistle is blown. Steam under pressure being released. A ting from a microwave oven and  I pull the food out, the container – mostly sealed – is an ember with baked steam trapped within, careful lifting of the edge….. the trapped steam breathes again and becomes something else.

Never in one state too long whether a ghostish momentary life or  absorbed into the atmosphere or merged into other forms of water. Pressure cooker on the stove, the top rattling away, an interrupted lisp  and rattle. Steam cleaners coming to do the carpet -  a fat pipe attached to a triangular sucking head, it leeches its way round the house, the carpets left wet underfoot, but smelling of sweet deoderant. Our Russian  Mafia man paid another ninety dollars protection money for a job well done.

When things are not going quite right, it starts to build inside my head and then wishes to escape from my ears – I AM a pressure cooker, I AM a railway engine ready to whistle big time, I AM a microwave dish heated to danger point – maybe the I.T Department needs to be put up against the wall and given a good steam cleaning for all the obstacles they put in our way…….there I’ve blown off a bit of steam…phewwww!