The Internal Space Station
You’ve seen those places advertising what
They call “Self-storage” lockers. Well, I’ve had
One over sixty years. It’s not a hut
On our back green. It doesn’t have a pad-
Lock, isn’t just a cubicle inside
A warehouse space, and doesn’t eat up rent.
You’ve guessed it’s in my skull. It’s where I hide
My precious stuff, where everything that’s meant
To be most prized is stowed and sealed away,
Like memories of nights I’ve spent in fun,
Important skills, a cherry tree with gay
White blossoms—and black mistakes by the ton.
Some things have started going missing, true;
The good ones that have gone are very few.
by phillipw | Jan 6, 2020 | IN, ME |