The Poetry Kit
|Ian C Smith|
He reads, wondering in the pauses,
discomfited in his cosy office
cocooned, odour of musty books.
Desk drawers layered with words
and words’ associates, foxed files,
cards, the remains of lost causes,
even quiz questions and Scrabble tiles,
almost forgotten teaching aids.
Letters nestle next to photographs,
moot messages from people past.
He finds certificates awarded,
an unopened box of paper clips
and press clippings in the scourings
relegated to these dark drawers
with keepsakes, his own words discarded,
miscellaneous detritus he sees
as a deceased person’s pathos.
He realises these bookmarks
hushed between the pages of his life
have passed throw out tests before,
scraping in with lowly scores,
their existence proof and more.
Now he weighs, once again, their worth,
saves them, his heart brimmed with strife.