it began in some dank cave,

rich the reach of human wit,

artefacts to make life easier,

from reservoirs to cess-pit

wombs warm, mostly safe,

then cots and stately prams,

family pews to plastic bags,

bottles of warming drams

harvest rain in your butts,

insurance of prison cells,

cracks in daddy's egg-cup,

minds like burning hells

walnut coffins and...

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once shoes went to cobblers

new valves a radio renewed

cut-throat razors stropping

nappies boiled then brewed

now artefacts come and go

we exploit them every day

serve a purpose then gone

discards, just thrown away

are us people any different?

used and then tossed aside

minds or bodies plundered

left weeping, hollow, dried

poets call it romantic l...

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Archaeology was my chosen field,

Artefacts and pottery sherds, that sort of thing

Above all I strove to date that

Bronze Age hair those white thighs, her

Confusing layers of strata.

In muddy trenches our

Trowels clashed and one wet field trip

We excavated each other.

Epochs later I observed her digging in a charity shop

An old ruin now,

A bit like myself

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In layers of strata lie the tracks of history

Archaeologists hunt for artefacts and bones

I cut off your flex and buried you with ceremony

Lamenting the demise of your dulcet tones

Sentinel moonlight lit the private interment

Your laser will exhume Miles Davis no longer

Millenia of chords traversed that plastic portal

You left me deaf, my hearing aids get stronger

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