Kattanga

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?

Plenty of life in the old, like new.

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