Photographs and books

compete for room on sagging shelves.

High in the wardrobe,

old baby clothes nestle

beside unemployed skeins of wool.


Cords from obsolete equipment lie tangled together

like a game of Twister that went horribly wrong.


Elsewhere, vinyl records

languish for want of a working turntable.

Boxes of papers (the contents forgotten),

convene in cupboards,

waiting in chaotic chronologies,

for some long-promised order to be restored.


Save for the odd sentimental or valuable item,

these objects,

these remnant footprints of a life

are unlikely to survive the day when,

charged with the disposal of these worldly goods,

loved ones will vet them with perfunctory glances

as the time runs out on the U-Haul truck

they hired for a trip to the tip.



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