A wardrobe stands with open doors.
On either side a chest of drawers, a
vanity mirror in full view
reflect appendages that look at you.
Creaky floorboards, minted moths and
curtains bleached with sun rays lost.
Over a decade or two or three ago - time
has gone.
Owner moved on.
Stopped alarm clock, obsolete,
replaced by phones
handy to keep, follow like sheep. Tell me,
tell
me, tell me please, did you like wearing these?
Plenty of life in the old, like new.
Don’t mind if I do. I’ll have them
too.
Disposable era, waste less. Thank
you.
Give me your coat so that I may wear
it.
I do not care for colour or worth
As long as it fits my shoulders - does
up.
Give me your jumper
You’ve no use now to keep warm with
it
and your shirt
I’ll more than happily have off your
back.
Tell me
tell
me, tell me please, when was the time you last wore these?
Plenty of life in the old, like new.
Don’t mind if I do. I’ll have them
too.
Disposable era, waste less. Thank
you.
Your shoes. You can keep, killer
heels don’t suit. And your feet
so large, prefer small boots. Kicked
off in the wardrobe,
not a pair in sight, soles,
mismatched - taken flight. Gone on to walk
in pastures fresh, taken with their
pound of flesh, just left.
And then before her, she sees what
clung to the clothes. Abandoned now.
Swaying on the rail, naked, sliding
closer together each one stripped
raw. Tacky in their purest form. Coat
hangers. Black. Tell me,
tell
me, tell me please? What use have you for all of these?
Are you done with all of these?
Don’t mind if I do. I’ll have them too.
Disposable era, less waste. Thank you.
Things we see in our mind - alive.
One by one,
a gigantic 3d jigsaw. Each piece knew
its place.
One by one, hanger by hanger, from
the wardrobe.
One by one, each bone.
One by one, each formed its shape;
Clinging to yet more old stuff in
heaps - discarded -
suddenly swallowing up the old black
plastic landline receiver
it could see, its recycled eyes
awake.
Tangled VH tape, ruffled ribbon grew
a mane so great
that in the wind it whistled beneath
the plastic plate.
To Teignmouth it trotted, as grand as
could be
and came to rest with a view of the
sea,
the sea turned to see with its wavy
white smile
and asked of Kattanga to chat for a
while.
Majestic the beauty reared on its
hind legs,
giving a magnificent nod and a polite
acquiesce.
Tell me
– tell me – tell me,
asked the sea
How is
it that you come to be?
From the old, plenty of life like
new.
Don’t mind if I do. I’m fixed with
glue.
Better up here than in the ocean blue,
there’s too much pollution already in
you.
Disposable era, less waste. Thank
you.
If only black plastic could recycle
anew
As it is a thousand years will do
to biodegrade me back to dust
A thousand years – or more if must.
Tell
me, tell me, tell me please,
Why do
humans throw away with ease?
Jacqui Jenkins
 |
| Kattanga |
