I’d like a tube of mending glue,
For my heart is broken clean in two.
I see you’ve a shelf called: “Mend with precision”;
Do you have a box of peripheral vision?
I’ll take a repair kit for a lost sense of smell;
I’ll take a tin of motivation as well.
Do you sell elbows? No, I thought you might not.
What’s that over there behind the blue pot?
I’d hoped for some recall, but you have none in stock.
I must say I find that a bit of a shock.
So give me a kilo of discretion and tact.
No longer available? Now is that a fact?
So, what can you sell me to make me feel fine,
Not including chocolate, narcotics, nor wine?
Some determination? How much will that cost,
And will it help find all the things that I’ve lost?
I’ll take a large bag then, of assorted hope.
Do you stock any powders that help one to cope?
No, but you do sell spare parts that I’m welcome to try.
All right, I’ll take them and do DIY.
© Sally Owens, Winter 1997