I took some cardboard to the skip (Household Waste Collection point or DUMPIT site, whatever.)  Until now I thought books thrown away got me started.  This did it too.

 

Song for the skip

I brought you cardboard; guitar
made my own small war on waste.
It joined? Cardboard.

Down there, in your belly,
you’re mixed. New against old.
The lives of boxes.

Today’s fresh house moves,
all their stressed yesterdays
mixed with purpose.

Crates that held gifts,
one for nameless photos.
All times passed.

The other skip stinks.
Refuse finally refused life.
Dead houses cleared.

And by my feet,
dropped to kicking height,
a silent guitar.

I lift its slight weight,
accepting I’m ridiculous,
even as I strum.

For my hands are happy,
like holding a promise.
I am its reprieve.

A grey, grainy minute,
on a high metal gantry.
We both rest.

It was a dream,
a tune simply begun.
Someone cared.

Then one string missing,
and it’s here; abandoned.
Wasted. Lost.

Is hope now surplus?
Life’s schooling reduced,
to bloody excess?

Maths and measurement.
Rules, dogma and design.
Vision be damned?

The guys at the tip watch;
eye me as a madman.
Ready for weirdness.

I tell them this;
two kids waiting, wanting.
This guitar.

Then I offer money.
But there’s rules. It’s contracted,
not permitted. Denied.

The sound box gathers rain,
and I’m angry.
Next time I say.

Next time.
Next time,
my hands will be lighter.

 

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