In a biscuit tin

On top of the cupboard in the living room

Is where she keeps all those little things

The bits and bobs that are precious

That are worth nothing and the whole world

To nobody but her

A sewing needle

Two paper clips

A drawing pin

Some newspaper cuttings

She keeps meaning to put in an album

Now already a bit tatty and frayed

The small gifts from Christmas crackers

A screw from where nobody can remember

A couple of mottos from crackers

A pack of miniature playing cards

Nobody can handle

And a fading photo of man trying to smile

That says I love you

 

These are her treasures

Her life condensed down into one square tin

This is what she would cling to

If there were a fire

This is what she would

Take to her grave

She told them that

The undertaker

Her children

The surgeon

And the nurse who smiled sweetly

As she prepared her

For the worst

And that’s what she did as they put her under

And that’s what was there next to her when she woke up

The battered old tartan shortbread biscuit tin