Silent Kettle

The smell first, a metallic burn,

a dry heat in the kitchen air.

The kettle, black, no water to churn,

a scorched pan, beyond repair.

A wisp of smoke, thin, almost gone,

curled toward the ceiling's blank, white stare.

The alarm, a dull plastic pawn,

hung there, silent, without a care.

It should have screamed, a sudden, loud cry,

a warning, sharp and clear.

But just the quiet, beneath the kitchen sky,

a deeper, settling fear.

Something broken,

left unspoken.

Not found.