Chaff

 

I shredded another box of your stuff today,

just papers, business, statements and the like,

nothing personal.

Your affairs, amongst an angry whirring drone

fall like snowflakes into a bucket,

a cross-cut life.

Its going in a trench, beneath manure

and this season’s runner beans,

chaff and horseshit turned into veg.

Saved from this cutting fate,

a neatly-folded fire insurance certificate

from the Prudential dated 1949,

priced 4s 6d.

It wouldn’t buy a box of matches today.

 

 

© Graham Sherwood 4/2012