Leftover (new poem)

I thought I was going to a workshop on unfinished things and I found this today in a folder, forgotten about and saved in the middle of the year. I’m not posting much I know, I try to keep things back so I can send them out and will then think of putting them here later (a reversal of my past practice). I’m not sure of this one.

Used, used badly they fall into disrepair
people, not exactly gadgets, tools
not exactly not
machines played for the winning
spinning tops over which overgrown kids gurn

blind to their status given
something hard they learn
overwound, scraped, scratched
hidden, better unattainable,
the back of the drawer their place
to dream of healing, growth’s freedom

touched by an odd moment of sun
the rest swim in treacle
doing their best
unheeded


A. H (14th June & 1st December 2021)

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