It doesn’t matter what the shape
life is still a boxed affair
confined in cupboards overfilled
and covered with the dust of time.
It’s just a box like moments are
and the light today draws me in
to where they sit in quiet repose
waiting for an airing.
To air a moment that was once
a chore unlikely to dismiss
the impact good or otherwise
on the viewer of collectables.
But I look at them with misty eyes,
smiles that turn to laughter loud,
and sometimes there are downturned lips
with furrows on a woman’s brow.
Each one and all as time decides
they frolic in the air I breathe
until finally when dusted, done,
they’re consigned again to dormancy.
Little boxes, little boxes,
little boxes everywhere,
there’s no place to keep you good as new
where I’m going to!