I used to write poetry
on the backs of paper scraps
at train stations
waiting for the 12.38am
after missing the 12.01.
I used to map words around
those already written down –
words I didn’t know the meanings of
sourced from books I liked.
I’d leave the scraps to accumulate
in my handbag, until
inside looked like a graveyard
of unrealised dreams.
I wrote to fill the gap
between now
and waiting for my lover to call
and say he’d save me
from the public transport experience.
But I don’t need to write poetry now,
because I drive a car and listen to commercial radio.
By Jodie McLeod
***
I just found this poem while sifting through old files… made me think – everyone must have something they used to do that they’ve put aside to make room for Life in General. What’s your thing? And are you going to bring it back?
