Poetry often makes you look at the world in a new way or perspective and this one takes a fresh looks at the rubbish found in skips.
In The Skip
Half a dozen bricks
are clinging to their brickness
and to the idea of being
Drawers lean on drawers as if
their crazy staircase could recall
the time it was a kitchen cabinet.
A mattress, doubled-up, yearns
to yawn, stretch, turn over
and scratch itself where it’s ripped.
Dust, yes there is dust.
And sometimes I think
my history is there in the skip:
a gap that was once for sitting on;
a piece, missing its jigsaw;
a smatter of glass, convinced
it was always meant to be a window.
I peer into the rubble, to see
There is something very poignant about all these items discarded in the skip dreaming of being the thing they used to be.