Diaries left open and letters framed,
chronological ink waving from a horizon, gone.
Clothes hung to recreate a wedding, a dance, a touch –
enclosed in glass cases to trap the scent inside.
There’s a recording of his voice that skips
back through time. Her handprint in clay, cracked.
That first glass of wine, now cobwebbed, stained red,
next to teenage car keys rusted.
A prescription acts as evidence I tried.
Sawdust forms a path between pets
and my Walkman makes youth balk;
to them my VHS collection is alien.
Postcards curled from saltwater offer perfect snapshots
years before we scrolled for one.
A mortarboard on display alongside a bus pass, front door key and bank card.
A blade of Sefton Park grass pinned down like the wings of a butterfly.
Receipts of apologies. Candleholders waxed in missteps.
Maybe, one day, there’ll be a travelling exhibit where I finally get to meet you.
And the curator will add you, title card and all, to this museum of me.
Categories:
mortarboard, analogy,
Form: Free verse
Students wear a mortarboard for graduation
Not a deerstalker like Sherlock Holmes
If they did, I would have to tip my hat
To those with such discriminating domes!
If you are a fireman, chef, or police
You always must wear the appropriate hat
Are you bad or good with a hat black or white,
Or are just cowboy hats distinct like that?
Not many wear a trapper like Elmer Fudd
Or a nifty coonskin cap like Daniel Boone
Some wear a Beanie or knitted when cold
I just hope they don't wear them too soon!
For safety, a hard hat or helmet will do
A beret or pillbox sure won't help with that
As for me I most recently shaved my head
But decided to keep it under my hat!
Categories:
mortarboard, analogy, character, clothes, humorous,
Form: Quatrain