In the washing up liquid
a fastener clip snapped off
from an old plastic box lid.
I hadn’t looked at it for years
it had been with me, quietly
storing condiments and candied fruit
like treasures, like secrets.
I examined it again closely today
and the seal was intact
three other clips worked
it could still hold its magic
it would serve its purpose.
At the base was a rough grainy patch
under my finger - a small leftover blob
of glue from the long-ago stripped tag
that no-one had managed to scrub off;
a fine mesh of accumulated dust clung to itmuch like time does to love.
Well, it's February. Red heart time. Which I propose to observe in my own way, as I do most years. I'm going to shun the explicit, the dramatic, the OTT and embrace the mundane. Much poetry in the mundane, I have only to look for it. And. Pay. Attention.