Six little pots all lined in a row
I’m told they hold
Scraps of life found along the roadside
This one the edges of sanity
This one a vestige of dignity
This one some missing shame
This one has the taste of a zest for life
This one humour found wandering lost
This one some dreams nobody talks about
I wonder if I looked, would I recognise any of the contents as my own
Maybe
But not today
I have an appointment with the shrink to get to