HEIRLOOM

 A silver teapot isn't practical since,
Filled with hot tea, it's untouchable.
Anyway, this one -- mine from her mother
And hers from her Aunt Jenny -- is haunted.
One of its ghosts is complaining that
I seldom call on her to appear in poems
And never credit her when I do
(The other ghosts are family, or claim to be,
But she seems only vaguely human
And is no kin of mine; she was in the teapot
When Dan, Jenny's widower, gave it to my Mom
Along with a suitcase full of strange cutlery, saying
"Jenny wanted you to have this.")
She's not star material -- useful as staffage
Or in minor roles. She last appeared weeks ago
Assisting King George III
In a poem where he, old, mad and blind
Played Handel for days on end. The King
Also has requirements. No poem
About him may feature America, France,
George IV, or ormolu clocks. Though blind,
And playing from memory his dignity
Requires I hold a candle while he plays
And someone turns the pages for him.