Poetry

I claim the teaspoon!

A rare, tiny, shiny thing

when out at dinner trying your hand at adulting.

Those soup spoons and dessertspoons,

tablespoons and long handled ice cream spoons

just don’t feel right.

Maybe you can ask for a teaspoon

without being snorted at all night.

And what’s with these odd fancy handles, when

normal metal cutlery is perfectly alright?

Plastic, wood, swirly-intricate designs –

they just don’t feelĀ right.

 

Poetry

Puzzle Pieces

I’m standing here on this bridge watching you

as I attempt to explain

how I’ve been searching myself for

the traces

of puzzle shapes, so I can pluck each one

out from the whole and analyse it.

My traits; behaviours over the years.

When I look at them individually, it starts to make sense.

 

The way I am me is quite different to the way you are you.

 

When we approached this bridge,

it made you smile when I leapt onto it, running.

 

Placing myself here is hard, but it is the right thing to do.

I know you see me clearly

whether my pieces show or not.

But it would be nice, just for once, if others did the same.