a small space
it morphs between
a prison cell and a womb
both forms of incarceration
hopeless and hopeful
‘old threepenny-bit
wooden fishing reel
small boomerang
pencil plane‘
of course, there are books galore
all read many outdated
cladding the walls
begging for re-use and
a leftie Martin acoustic
lonely in the corner pretending
to give me the cold shoulder
‘bottle of ink
grandma’s rolling pin
cricket ball
school certificate
pewter tastevin‘
there’s a window to look out
another to look into, which
sports an unerring cursor blink
sarcastically recording my
inadequate productivity
‘cricket ball
fountain pen
French house sign
wooden bottle‘
a cornucopia of mementos
sit scornfully too
abandoned favourites now forlorn
ruefully gathering dust
‘ancient whistle
clippy’s punch
Rubik’s cube
champagne cork‘
it’s a small space
ten foot by five
hardly the place to get lost
but somehow I always do
*
© Graham R Sherwood 11/22
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 