The endless yogurt lids stuck
to the underside of the creaky pedal bin.
The Spider-Man t-shirt
that hasn’t fit my frame in 12 years.
The certificate
for Carl with a K.
The Pukka Pad diary
with that entry from that night.
The woolly hat
I wish I knew how to love.
The crusty shin pads
that snapped when I stopped defending.
The splodge in my brain
that tells me I don’t deserve nice things.
The wonky bedside table
that makes me feel at home.

© Carl Burkitt 2020